Shades of Gray
by Jess and Sid
Summary: CJ and Sam stumble through a one-night stand that leads to something more. (A post-ep series beginning with Manchester.)
1. Flesh

Flesh

by, Jess

Category: Post-ep Manchester Pt 1, CJ/Sam

Summary: You pulled me from the wreckage of bitterness and blame, flung open the page and put some flesh on the bones of my dreams. 

Rating: R-ish for language and sex. Nothing graphic…

Thanks: My Protestant friend Manda, who really should convert to Catholicism so we can kick it together in Purgatory, and Rosie Guildenstern. And Esti.

Disclaimer: Um, yeah. Don't own `em.

++++++

The taste of expensive White Zinfandel sits under my tongue, mixing in with the betrayal and regret that has resided there for longer than I care to admit. I only had two glasses, but I feel drunk, and I don't know whether it's from the alcohol or the power of having made a decision. 

It shouldn't be this easy to rationalize. It shouldn't be this easy to look my friends in the eye. And it shouldn't be this easy to walk away. But it is, and this scares me more than a room full of hostile White House reporters. 

The gravel crunches beneath my feet and I smile at my escape. I told Toby I was going to the ladies room because his eyes were too penetrating, and his voice too soft. I left Sam sitting at the table, re-writing the President's speech and ignoring my words. 

A hot bath sounds good right now. A hot bath, and maybe some ice- cold Jack Daniels from the mini-bar. And then I remember that the hotel we're staying in doesn't have a mini-bar. Damn. 

"CJ!" 

I turn around and curse softly because I didn't hear him following me. His eyes are bright as he shoves his hands into his pockets and walks closer. "Look, Sam, I-" 

"Where are you going?" he interrupts me. 

"Have you been assigned guard duty?" 

"What?" 

"I'm not running away, Sam. I'm not going to jump off of any cliffs… I don't think there are any cliffs in Manchester anyway. And I promise not to throw myself in front of a tractor. I just want…," I trail off and shrug my shoulders. 

"What? What do you want?" 

There's sympathy in his eyes, and I hate him for it. I am Claudia Jean Cregg, Press Secretary Extraordinaire, and people simply do not look at me in sympathy. I'm calm, I'm capable, and I'm great at what I do. Only, I'm not. 

"I want you guys to leave me the hell alone," I say in frustration as I kick at the tiny rocks and scuff the top of my new Bruno Magli shoes. Fuck. 

Hurt flashes across his chiseled features, and I'm immediately sorry. Only, I can't seem to form the words to apologize. So instead, I sigh and turn to walk towards the small hotel. 

"So, Doug asked me why Toby doesn't like him," Sam says quietly as he falls into step beside me, ignoring my look of surprise. The wind ruffles his hair and he looks incredibly young. 

"And what did you tell him?" I ask, attempting to lighten the tone of my voice because I realize that Sam is making an effort. 

"I told him to ask you," he chuckles. 

I narrow my eyes and nod my head. "And he did, Spanky. Now that I know you were the instigator, I'm going to have to mete out a little punishment." 

"You promise?" he asks as he bumps my elbow. 

"You're a big flirt, you know that?" 

He just smiles in response and holds the door of the hotel open for me. I nod at the front desk clerk and follow Sam to the elevator. Once the doors slide shut, he exhales loudly and turns towards me, a question forming on his lips. 

"I'm going to take a bath, all right? I'm going to take a bath, and then I'm going to bed. You can come check on me later if you don't believe me. Bath, and then bed, ok?" I sound more bitter than I intended, but as the elevator comes to a stop on our floor, I really couldn't care less. 

He arches an eyebrow and sighs. "I was just going to ask if you wanted to share the bottle of Jose Cuervo I smuggled in my suitcase, but if you're busy…," he trails off as he walks in the opposite direction down the hall. 

"Wait, wait, wait…I think I can, you know, put off the bath part for a few hours," I say desperately as I grab his arm. He smiles arrogantly and I push him a little. "Oh don't look so smug, I can drink you under the table." 

He fumbles with the key-card for a few moments, cursing under his breath. I smile at him affectionately as I wrestle the card from his grasp and insert it into the lock, waiting for the green light before I push the door open. "Do you usually get Donna to open your door, too?" 

"Smart ass," he says simply as he flips the light switch on and kneels beside the queen-sized bed to rummage through his compact suitcase. 

His room is identical to mine. The same ugly green carpet and nondescript beige comforter. His furniture is in better condition and the pictures are different, but the room is the same. He smiles triumphantly as he holds the bottle up and tosses it to me. 

I take a satisfying swig and smile at the familiar burn, taking comfort in the warmth that invades my belly. "Want a brown paper bag for that, CJ?" 

"Oh don't be a candy ass," I respond as I pass the bottle and slide to the floor so that my back is against the bed. He sits across from me and throws back his head as he gulps down some of the golden liquid in one long draught. 

"I hate this stuff," he grimaces. 

"Then why did you buy it?" 

"Because I thought we might need it." His eyes are wide as I take the tequila back, and he cocks his head to the side. "Toby told me, you know?" 

"Told you what?" I ask innocently. 

"He told me that you talked to Leo." 

"I talk to Leo all the time," I deadpan, even as he sighs in frustration. 

"Are you really going to resign?" he asks quietly. 

"Damn it, Sam. You see what you just did? You ruined what could have been a fun night with shop-talk," I say as I get to my feet and forcefully shove the bottle into this hand. 

"Wait, wait…I'm sorry. I won't bring it up again, I promise." He stands up and blocks the door. "I'm just really worried about you, but if you don't want to talk about it, I won't say another word. Just, don't go." 

I close my eyes briefly and pinch the bridge of my nose to ward off the headache I know is coming. He interprets this as capitulation because he tugs my hand and pulls me back to the floor beside him. I fold my legs awkwardly beneath me and turn to face him. The bottle passes between us smoothly for about ten minutes before I get the courage to speak. 

"Will you miss me?" I ask quietly. 

"You just broke your own rule. You said no shop talk," Sam answers, evading my question. 

"I'm not talking about work…I'm just asking if you'd miss me, you know, if I ever left." Did I just slur? 

"You didn't ask if I would miss you, you asked if I will miss you." 

"Damn Jose," I mutter under my breath. "I didn't mean…hell, I really don't know what I meant." 

"So, you are leaving then?" 

I meet his gaze and nod slightly. "And before you start in on reasons why I should stay, let me just ask you something. If you were working for someone else, if you didn't know me, what would you think would be best strategically for this re-election campaign?" 

"I wasn't going to argue with you. You gotta do what you gotta do," he says nonchalantly as he bangs his head lightly against the wall. 

"You're not going to argue with me?" 

"You sound disappointed." 

"Well, I guess that answers my question," I say, ignoring his observation because, well, he's right. I try to stand up so that I can march out of the room indignantly, but my limbs won't cooperate and I fall back against the wall in an unimpressive heap. 

Sam snickers openly and pats my knee. Well, he tries to pat my knee, but he misses and his fingers spread intimately across my lower thigh. "The tequila is kicking in," he murmurs. 

"You think?" I start giggling-yes, giggling-and soon Sam joins me until we are both doubled over with the effort. Somehow my head ends up on his shoulder, and his hand slides further up my leg. 

I know it's wrong, but I can't concentrate on anything other than the warmth of his hand through my slacks and the smell of his expensive cologne-something by Calvin Klein if my guess is correct. He turns his head slightly so that his lips are grazing my hair as he speaks. 

"CJ, I'm not going to argue with you about leaving because I know you won't do it." 

I raise my head and stare at the tiny lines around the corners of his mouth. "And what if I told you that I was on my way back to my hotel room to type up my letter of resignation?" 

"Well then, I'd remind you that you are indeed human, and that you made a mistake. Welcome to the club." 

"I didn't make a tiny mistake. I fucked up at a time when we can't afford to be making mistakes. Damn it, I told those people that he was relieved, relieved, Sam, to be focusing on the situation in Haiti." 

"No you didn't. You told them that the President was looking forward to getting back to important matters. The Press deliberately took it out of context because they're pissed." 

"And then, I didn't fix it. I couldn't fix it. I just, I froze," I continue, ignoring his soft-spoken words. 

He reaches out to graze his fingers across my cheek and leans forward. "And what do you hope to accomplish by resigning, CJ?" 

My breath catches at the tenderness in his eyes and I have to remind myself that this is Sam, my friend. I lower my eyes because the intensity of his stare is unnerving. "I just…Sam, I can't concentrate when your hand is on my thigh," I admit honestly because I can think of nothing else to say. 

"Good," he whispers huskily as he gently encircles my wrist with his thumb and forefinger. 

My body reacts to the timbre of his voice and the gentleness of his touch and before I know what's happening, his lips capture mine in a searing kiss. Or maybe I initiated it. I can't tell at this point, and I really don't care. 

I don't care that this is a man I love like a brother. I don't care that this is a man who has unresolved feelings for our boss' daughter and a blonde republican sex kitten. I don't care that this is a man who works down the hall in a place where scandal ruins careers. 

All I care about is the desire in his eyes, and the passion in his kiss. His hand is gently kneading my calf and I reach down to entwine our fingers. "This is a bad idea, Sam," I murmur against his lips, unwilling to sever the contact. 

"Maybe," he agrees readily even as he slides his free hand up to cup my breast. 

I moan and throw my head back. God, it's been so long since anyone has touched me like this. He trails kisses down my throat and I push him back slightly because I know I have to be the responsible one. 

"Sam, I don't love you," I whisper. 

"I know." 

"And you don't love me." 

"No." 

"So why are we doing this?" 

He smiles at me innocently and pushes my hair out of my eyes. And then just as suddenly, his smile fades and he lowers his eyes. "Because I need to forget as much as you. Because I'm angry, and lost, and know what you're feeling. Because you're here, and so am I. Because we're both drunk. And in the morning, we'll use that as an excuse." 

"Did Sam Seaborn just suggest we use each other for mindless, no- strings-attached sex?" I tease because his honesty comforts me. 

"Well, yeah." 

"Just checking," I smile before I lean over and push him to the floor. 

Hours later I'm contemplating the stupidity of my actions, all the while nursing a headache that rivals anything I've had before. A combination of stress and too much tequila. I run my tongue experimentally over the roof of my mouth and wince at the feeling. 

Sam is muttering something in his sleep, his lips brushing my shoulder and his hand spread protectively against my belly. I gently extricate myself from his grasp, careful not to awaken him. I almost lie back down because my head is wrapped in a fog of dizziness and pain. 

My clothes are lying in a pile with his by the foot of the bed, and it's too far for me to walk. So I crawl instead, vowing to never touch Jose Cuervo again. Oh, and also never to sleep with a co- worker. Or soon-to-be ex-coworker. 

Don't get me wrong, the sex was great. Better than great, spectacular even. Which I guess explains the two times on the floor, and once in the bed. He's more muscular than he looks, and he's one of the most considerate lovers I've ever had. 

But he's Sam. And he doesn't love me. So it can never happen again. 

I don't bother tucking my shirt in, or slipping into my shoes. Instead I sit on the edge of the bed and smooth his wrinkled forehead. His face relaxes immediately and I run a hand across his broad shoulder. His skin is warm to the touch, and it takes everything I have not to crawl back beside him, letting the rest of the world wait for a few more hours. 

But I have a letter to write, a suitcase to pack, and flight reservations to make. And so I kiss his forehead and close the door quietly behind me as I make my way down the corridor.

-fin-

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__

As the bell must strike the hour

As the west must stab the sun

So our hearts

must head the flow

of deeper tides that run

Far beyond this bare indifference

That prosperity esteems

Where the spirit

raves and dances

Through our very veins

At winters edge you found me

By the fields of wild gold

My hands still filled with ashes

From fires long cold

You pulled me

from the wreckage

of bitterness and blame

flung open the page

And put some flesh on

the bones of my dreams

On the streets

the blossom snowing

And the drum is beating slow

To hear you speak so clear

Well I'm slicing through the fear

Setting all the beacons

blazing, baby oh!

It's staring out plainer than ever

Brighter than all the fools

gold that gleams

It's simply now or never

Putting flesh on the bones

of my dreams

Putting flesh on the

bones of my dreams 

Putting flesh on the

bones of my dreams 

And they can plunder

the cave of sorrows

They can strip the gallery bare

Try to build a fence

around the visions

In our heads, choke every spark

In a cloak of despair

But we got something

they can't stifle

With their price tags

and picture frames

Got a flower for every rifle

Putting flesh on the

bones of my dreams

--Flesh, by David Gray--


	2. Red Moon

Red Moon, by Sid

Category: Manchester 1 post-ep, CJ/Sam  


Rating: R for language and sexual situations  


Summary: Got what you wanted, oh--very nice, but every kiss must have a price.  


Disclaimer: Um, lemme check. Okay, no, these characters aren't mine.  


Author's note: This story is a sequel to Jess's magnificent story 'Flesh'. Please read that first, because it's muy fabuloso and this one will make more sense.  


Thanks: To Jess, for letting me tell Sam's side :)

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I wake to a sharp ray of sunlight cascading through the heavy drapes in my hotel room and landing directly in my eyes. Immediately I register three separate, yet equally powerful, sensations: One--the lingering taste of tequila; Two--the thick shag carpet that seems to have grown in my mouth overnight; Three--the pounding in my head akin to the pounding of a jackhammer against the pavement. 

Oh God...My head... 

Jesus... 

I glance over at the clock. Shit. I have to be downstairs and ready to check out in less than an hour. I'll never make it. 

Okay, give me a minute. Hang on, hang on. I can do this. 

Oh God...my head...No thoughts in it, just pain. Lots of pain. 

Shit. Phone. Too loud, too loud. Must stop sound. 

"H'lo?" 

"You seen CJ?" 

The voice is vaguely familiar. A name floats to the surface of my brain. "Josh?" 

"Yeah. You seen CJ?" He sounds...something. Can't think of the word just now. 

"Um...lemme see..." Okay, brain, do your stuff. Start working for me, baby, come on. You can do it--think. Think. Have I seen CJ? Have to think! "Ah, no. No, I haven't." At least, not this morning. But there's something nagging at the edges of my cloudy brain--a thought, almost a memory. 

"I was just wondering," Josh says. "She hasn't come down yet, and she didn't answer the phone in her room. We were supposed to have breakfast." 

"Was I supposed to be there?" I ask, fervently hoping the answer is 'no'. I really don't think I can handle getting out of this bed yet, let alone facing bacon and eggs. 

"No," he chuckles in response. "Just me and CJ. But listen--I'm starving. I can't wait for her any longer. If you see her, will you tell her I went to that diner on the corner with Leo?" 

My brain is slowly unraveling from its previous fetal position. Thoughts are beginning to crawl through my head. "Sure," I answer confidently. 

"Okay, 'cause last night she looked...you know, not so good." 

The memory-thought bobs to the surface again, sinking back down below the hungover depths of my mind, but I'm catching flashes of something...something. "Not so good," I repeat like an idiot. I have no brain power to form a real reply; I'm too busy concentrating on hooking that thought and reeling it back in. It's something to do with CJ, I know that much." 

"You know, at that pool place...She left early. I thought maybe you went after her, but then we didn't see either of you after that, so we figured you'd both just gone--" 

I run a hand through my hair and squint, surveying the room around me with curiosity. There's a lingering scent of perfume that's familiar somehow. I sit up in bed then, the sheet falling past my waist. 

Okay. Um, I have no clothes on. In fact, I'm downright naked. 

And there's lipstick on my-- 

Never mind. 

And there's an earring on the pillow next to me. 

It's CJ's earring. Yes, it is most definitely CJ's earring. 

Oh yeah. It's all coming back to me now, every second of last night is playing in my memory as clear as anything at the multi-plex. I hang up on Josh in mid-prattle as the London fog clears from my head, leaving every thought as clear and crisp as a winter's day in DC. 

CJ was here--in my room. The two of us were here. We drank and talked and laughed, and somehow during the night, my hand wound up on her thigh. And then her hand was on my waist and we were admitting that we weren't in love but that sex would be nice. Comfort sex. Or, as CJ put it, "mindless, no-strings-attached sex". And that's all I thought it would be--two people in a room, forgetting themselves and the world outsidei n a harmless, hopefully-pleasurable act. No big deal. 

That's what I thought anyway. I had no idea it would turn into the most amazing, mind-blowing, *sexiest* sex I've ever had. I remember it all so clearly: CJ and her smell of spices and tequila--her bubbling laughter--her soft hands on my stomach--her long legs wrapped around my waist. It was just--wow. 

Blood rushes south from my head and I start to feel a little dizzy. 

I get up then, and my legs are a little wobbly, but I feel fine otherwise. Well, fine apart from the headache surging like water in a whirlpool. Vital stats are as follows--head: hurting, mouth: disgusting, stomach: dodgy, knees: unstable. I'm in fairly good shape actually. The Seaborns can hold their liquor, but I must admit tequila is my alcoholic Waterloo. 

I reach down and pick up the earring CJ left behind. It's a tiny silver hoop and I suddenly remember it scraping against my face as I nibbled on her neck. 

CJ. 

She left me after we--after what we shared. Oh God, that sounds so damn sappy. Just say it, Seaborn--She left me after we had sex. That's what you do after a one-night stand. Isn't it? 

Well, I don't actually know. I've never had one. I mean, I talked a big talk last night about how we were both angry and lost and available, but inside I was scared shitless. What the hell was a guy like me doing propositioning a woman like CJ Cregg? Where did I find the nerve? 

I mean, I've always found her attractive. What sane man wouldn't? The mind, the face, the elegance, they make up on awe-inspiring woman. Plus, you know, those legs. But have I ever actually been attracted *to* her? Probably not. Probably because she's always treated me like the pesky kid next door, and that is far from a turn-on. Also she intimidates me in many ways. So yeah, I thought she was gorgeous, but no, I never considered *being* with her. 

Okay, yes, I considered sleeping with her. I'm a guy, dammit! But-- anything more? Definitely not. 

Not that I am now, you understand. I'm just remembering the sex. 

The great sex. 

...And the sadness in her eyes. 

...And the way she laughed at me when I slurred on the word 'effervescence'. 

...And her startling ability to argue with me while three sheets to the wind and pressing kisses to my neck. 

God. CJ. 

We've both been so goddamn lost lately. For a while we were snapping at one another like wild dogs, as if we recognized the other's hurt and frustration, but couldn't do anything beyond react like positive and negative sides of a magnet: repelling, refusing to budge, resisting connection. My bullshit angst about being the last to know, about being the 'baby' of the group, and her painfully deep resentment over being thrust to the front line were powerful forces. Josh and Toby were confused and anxious and angry, but CJ and I hoarded our pain like kids hoarding candy. We took it out on each other...and then we turned to each other for comfort. 

Interesting. 

I hurry up with my packing, flinging clothes into my suitcase with wild abandon. I'm sure I'm forgetting something, but I don't care. To hell with it. I'm suddenly filled with purpose. I have to explore this thing--this thing between CJ and me. Not love, but more than sex. 

For once I dress down, too dirty and tired and hungover to worry about making an impression. I dress in a baggy white tshirt and jeans I've had since college--hardly GQ now. With one last look at the tangled sheets where only a few hours ago I made love to CJ, I head out of the room and shut the door behind me. 

The light in the hall is bright. I slip on my shades and make my way to the elevator. A few women give me strange looks as they pass me by. I know I look like a frat house-reject, but I don't care. I'm a man on a mission. 

I'm going to find CJ Cregg. 

I find her in the hotel coffee shop, a mug of cold coffee before her. She's got a spoon in one hand and she's absent-mindedly spinning it in her fingers. She looks a million miles away. 

She also looks fantastic--pressed and shined, tailored and elegant. You'd never know she just stumbled out of a drunken one-night stand a few short hours ago. 

When she finally notices me, she looks visibly surprised. Her expressive eyes widen considerably and she flinches slightly. 

"Sam," she says in a 'you startled me' voice. 

"Hey, CJ." Oh, that was suave. 

Her eyes travel from my head to my toes and I shift uncomfortably where I stand. "I know," I say. "I look like hell." 

CJ's lips tighten and her eyes dart back up to to my face. I could swear she flushes a little. "No, you look--Okay, yeah, you look like hell." 

A silence stretches between us. I indicate the seat opposite her. "May I?" 

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes flickering in discomfort. She licks her lips. "Of course," she says, a fraction too late to be believable. I sit anyway. 

"So..." I say. 

"Uh-huh." 

"Yeah." 

Well, this is pathetic. 

I'll try again. Full speed ahead. "So, last night..." 

CJ's head suddenly jerks up at my words. "Last night?" she echoes, sounding nervous and stricken. 

"Yeah," I say. "You know--the threesome we had last night with Jose Cuervo." 

"Sam!" My name comes out of her mouth an outraged gasp. 

"Sorry. I didn't mean to be so glib, I just--" Sighing, I pull my sunglasses off my face and meet her gaze levelly. 'What happened?" 

She bristles then and sets the spoon down with a clatter. "We were both angry and *there*, remember, Sam?" 

"Yeah," I say softly. 

"Don't tell me you've never had a--a night like that before." 

I stare at her again. "No." 

Her reaction is one of disbelief. Eyebrows narrowing, she asks, "What about Laurie?" 

"Um, I didn't intend for that to be a one-night stand," I say indignantly. "If you will recall--" 

"Yeah, yeah, she turned out to be a high-priced call girl." She waves me away impatiently. "What about Mallory?" 

I can't help laughing. "Mallory O'Brien wouldn't let me touch her with a ten-foot pole, let alone love her and leave her." 

"Hmph." CJ traces the spoon against the tabletop. "That's not the first impression she gave." She lifts her head again. "Ainsley?" 

"*Ainsley*?" If I were drinking anything, I would have immediately executed a spit-take. "Ainsley *Hayes*?" 

"Oh, don't pretend the thought hasn't at least crossed your mind," scoffs CJ. "Do the words 'blond Republican'--?" 

I cut her off with a groan of frustration. "Jesus. If I never hear those goddamn words again it'll be too soon. Look, CJ--Ainsley is great, and she and I seem to have--" 

"Chemistry," says CJ. 

"Whatever. But she's not for me. Anyway, how did this get to be about me? I thought we were discussing *us*." 

"There's no *us*, Sam." 

"CJ." 

"What? There's no us!" 

"So us rolling around on the floor shrieking each other's names for a good couple of hours was nothing?" The question rolls flippantly off my tongue. I'm not feeling flippant right now, but I'm getting irritated. 

CJ seems to calm then. She smiles at me. "Sam, I'm old enough to be your--" 

"Big sister?" I supply helpfully. 

She makes a face at me. 

"CJ, if it helps at all, I'm pretty sure you're not related to me by blood." 

"Don't joke, Sam. Why are you being like this? What happened to guilt- free sex?" 

I shrug. "I don't know. I was just--I was thinking about last night, and..." I glance over at her. She's gazing back at me, completely clueless. She has no idea where I'm going with any of this. That's quite a blow to my ego. 

I'm not in love with her, I know that. But I'm...something.Interested, maybe. 

Yes, I am. I'm interested. That's the word. 

"I just thought--it seemed like we...We seemed to be--you know, *compatible*, and uh," Shit, this is getting worse by the second. It's a good thing I'm a speech-writer and not an orator. "Um, compatible," I say again, "and you know, that's kind of usually a good thing, and I was thinking that--that maybe..." 

"Oh, Sam," she sighs. 

The way she's looking at me...Sort of pitying, sort of indulgent, sort of impatient. 

Like a--like a big sister. 

Shit. 

She's not attracted to me. That's what it is. Jesus Christ, I am such an *ass*. I was a warm body, a chance for escape. The fact that she didn't find me repulsive doesn't mean she found me attractive. 

Jesus. I am so stupid. 

"You know what?" I force a laugh that comes out sounding fairly credible, if I do say so myself. "Never mind. Ignore me. It was hormones and Jose, that's what it was. You're right; there's no 'us'." 

"Sparky." 

Yeah, that doesn't help. Five minutes ago I felt ten feet tall, I felt like her *lover*. Now I just feel like some stupid, very unlover- like idiot masquerading as a man. A nickname like 'Sparky' will do that to you. 

"It's fine, CJ. Forget it." 

She looks genuinely upset. Of course she is. She feels badly. "Sam, I'm sorry..." Her eyes are glassy. 

"Of course. Of course," I say brightly. "It's nothing, CJ. Honestly." I even smile. Then I clear my throat and slide out of the chair. "Well, I'd better be going." 

CJ grabs my hand as I start to move away. "Sam, wait--I just--I mean, thank you." Her eyes dart here and there, from my face to the floor and back again. "For everything. For talking to me, for being my--my friend. I needed you last night." 

"Great. That's great, CJ." I don't even know what the hell is coming out of my mouth. I just want to get out of here. I have never been so embarrassed in my entire life. And that includes the time Shelly Troy told the entire Senior class that I kissed like a fish. It even outranks getting my ass kicked on national television. 

"Aren't you going to say anything?" she asks after another silence passes. 

I shake my head. I don't have anything to say. 

"Okay..." she murmurs, releasing my hand. My palm burns from her fingers. 

She needed me, I think as I walk away, feeling her eyes on my back. What the hell am I getting upset for? Didn't I need her too? Didn't I pretty much ask for guilt-free sex? 

Yes, I did. 

I tell myself not to be upset, that I'm being stupid, irrational, letting my hormones get the better of me. I start to feel better. It was nothing. It was sex. Great sex, yes, but just sex. I tell myself there's nothing to be embarrassed about. We were two consenting adults who just needed a little time to forget. 

I tell myself it was just sex.

I even start to believe it.

-FIN-

____________________

__

Weighing that silver

there with your hands

In no position to make demands

Got what you wanted

Oh--very nice

but every kiss must have a price

I'm getting tired of

being denied of

saying those same old things

And those tears aren't gonna mend

these broken wings

Red moon

All that I've witnessed

hard to believe

I can still find it in me

to be so naive

Cry on your pillow

into the night

'Cos saying you're sorry

won't make it right

I'm getting tired of 

being denied of

things getting in my way

And if I'm quiet 

that's 'cos there's nothing left to say

Yeah, if I'm quiet

it's 'cos there's nothing left to say
    
    
    --Red Moon, David Gray--


	3. Wisdom

Wisdom, by Jess

Category: CJ/Sam Post-ep Manchester II

Summary: Some things you do you can never repair.

Rating: R…strong language and a little sumpin'-sumpin' at the end.

Disclaimer: This one time in band camp, Aaron said…ok, yeah, these characters aren't mine. Go figure.

Thanks: Oh Sidda you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind, hey Sidda. :)

Note: Third in the series…uh…the series as yet to be named. (We got a name yet, Sid?) . Anyhoo the order is 1) Flesh, 2) Red Moon

++++++

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." Josh raises an eyebrow questioningly as he slides the card across the table, our fingers touching briefly as I pick it up. 

Already I know I need to defend myself, but I simply don't have the strength. My emotional wherewithal caught the last train for the coast about three hours ago, running off to elope with Leo's sympathy. OK, Claudia Jean, no more whiskey. I get too…oh, I don't know. Shit. My grasp of language is tenuous at best right now. Jack Daniels will do that. 

"My mom, she, you know, sent it to me a few weeks ago. Thought I might appreciate it," I say softly as I place the prayer card back in my wallet behind the one dollar bill it had been hiding behind before it fell out while I was paying for my drinks. "But you know what I would really appreciate right now? A one-way ticket to anywhere but here." 

"CJ," Josh warns as he leans closer. 

I hold my hand up to ward off whatever he's about to say because my mind is not sharp enough to have this conversation. "I don't want to hear it, Joshua." 

He sighs in frustration as he rubs a hand over his face. "Fine, but you need to get back to the farmhouse. Leo's pissed as hell." He waits for my response, and when there is none, his eyes flash angrily. "Why didn't you answer your cell phone or your pager?" 

I smile sweetly at him and shrug my shoulders. "I didn't feel like it. Plus, I do believe it's possible that I left both of them in my hotel room." 

He places his hands on his hips and shakes his head. "You left them…" he trails off incredulously. "Tell me something, CJ. Are you trying to get fired? We're making the announcement tomorrow, and you— " 

"Josh, Josh, Josh." Well, that's what I was trying to say. I think it came out sounding more like `Yosh', but what the hell? "You need to relax, take it easy. Smell the roses and all that jazz." 

"Ok, you know what?" 

"Hmmmmmm?" 

He wrinkles his forehead and looks around the smoke-filled room. "We're going to get you some coffee, and then we're going back to the farmhouse. We'll tell Leo that your cell phone ran out of juice, and that you forgot to replace the batteries in your pager." 

"Actually, I am going back to my hotel room to sleep. Tomorrow's the big day, after all," I say as I get to my feet, gripping the edge of the bar because I'm not sure my legs will support me. 

Josh places his arm around my waist and half-drags me out of the small dive. Once we're safely out of range of prying eyes, he turns to me and sighs. "You lied to me." 

Normally I'd shrug his statement off, but he's got that whole `you killed my puppy' look going on, and so I throw my head back and notice for the first time how hypnotizing the blinking Corona bottle in the window is instead. 

"CJ?" 

"I didn't lie to you, Josh." 

"I asked you…damn it, CJ, look at me." He waits until he has my full attention before continuing. "I asked you what was going on, and you told me—" 

"Nothing, I said nothing was going on." 

"Right…but I had a very interesting conversation with Leo today." 

"Fucking Leo McGarry…he did it just to spite me, you know? I told him I would tell people—" 

"So it's true then? You're thinking about resigning?" 

"I'm not thinking about resigning, Josh. I am resigning." 

He pulls back as if I have physically struck him, and his jaw clenches almost imperceptibly. He toes the loose gravel on the sidewalk and lowers his eyes. The tension in the air is almost tangible, and a few moments pass before he is able to look at me. 

"Well, CJ, you haven't turned in your letter of resignation yet, so as far as I'm concerned, you're still part of this staff. The next time you feel the need to drown yourself in whiskey and self-pity, take your damn pager." 

He begins walking towards his rental car, and I know he expects me to follow him. A flash of anger surges through me at his arrogance, but then I remember that he's right. Until I talk to the President tomorrow, I am still the Press Secretary, and by God, I'm going to finish this the right way. 

+++++ 

If you live long enough, you forget everything. 

Most people don't make it to that point. There are car accidents and liver disease. There are automatic machine guns and cancer. There are civil wars and brain aneurysms. And there is Multiple Sclerosis. 

But all diseases, instruments of death, and fate aside, I will never forget the plane of Sam's chest, smooth under my hands. I will never forget his warm breath tickling my ear as he whispered my name, over and over. And I will never forget the look on his face this morning as he realized that there would never be an us. 

He's too beautiful for me. I don't want to hurt him, don't want to destroy him. Despite the past few weeks, he still shines, almost painfully in fact. And I don't want to be the reason he fades. 

I need to explain things to him. I need to make him understand that I am incapable of maintaining a healthy relationship, as healthy as someone who works for the president can have anyway. He deserves better. 

"CJ?" I look over to Josh and he gazes at me curiously. "Where were you just then?" 

"What?" 

"I've called your name three times…you were spaced out." 

"Sorry. I…" I wave my plastic coffee cup around sigh. "I was just thinking about some things." 

"Well, we're here." 

I look out the window and notice for the first time the wide expanse of trees, and the slope of the roof almost hidden by the darkness of night. I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the door. Before I can touch my foot to the ground however, Josh reaches over and grabs my shoulder. 

"Claudia Jean?" 

Oh shit. Josh is pulling out the big guns. He only calls me Claudia Jean when he's extremely happy, or when he's about to impart some serious news. 

"What?" 

"I don't want you to go." 

I close my eyes tightly because the plaintive tone of his voice is enough to make me want to cry. His hand travels down my arm and he gently entwines our fingers together. I feel like I'm suffocating in the confines of the car, and I rip my hand away from his. 

"Don't do this to me, Josh. Just don't," I say unsteadily as I slam the car door and begin walking the well-worn path to the house. 

There's movement in the distance and I stop for a moment as I try to identify the two bodies standing by the fence. I instantly quell the flash of jealousy that travels all the way to my fingertips as Sam moves closer to Connie. I have no right to feel this way. None what- so-ever. 

"Well, that was inevitable," Josh says quietly as he looks across the horizon. 

He's right of course. Sam's lonely-- hell, I think we're all lonely-- and Connie's a beautiful woman. I've seen her looking at Sam a little too long in meetings, and I overheard some guy talk in Josh's office the night we were introduced to Bruno's staff. They'd make an attractive couple, and I tell myself that maybe she'd be good for him. 

"Yeah," I return tiredly as I drown the last dregs of bitter coffee. 

"Seriously CJ—" 

"Can we not do this tonight? Let me just go in there so I can get yelled at by Leo, stared at by Doug, ignored by Bruno, and pitied by Toby. OK?" 

Josh's eyes widen at the thickness of my voice and he takes a step closer, even as I try to wave him off. "Where is all this coming from, CJ?" 

"I'm so tired," I admit honestly. "I'm so tired of being punished for something that happened a month ago. I fucked up royally. I know that…but I don't deserve this." 

"Nobody's punishing you." 

I smile at his naivete and shake my head. "The First Lady denied me cider, Josh. Leo can't even speak to me without being angry and Bruno barely acknowledges my presence because he knows I'm on the way out. The President hasn't said two words outside of official business to me. Don't tell me I'm not being punished." 

He lowers his eyes and sighs in frustration. "The First Lady denied you cider?" 

"She was pissed because I wanted to get some pictures of her and the President together. I'm just trying to do my job, and…" I trail off because I'm tired of explaining myself. 

"That's my fault…because I got in your face about—" 

"Forget it. I'm gonna go in now." 

He follows me and waits to speak until we get to the porch. "I know things are bad for you right now, CJ. But we're here for you…Sam, Toby and me." 

His voice is so earnest that I can't help smiling. "I know." 

"Look, I'll talk to Leo—" 

"Josh, if you're my friend, then you'll respect what I'm about to say." I wait for him to nod his head before continuing. "I don't need you to defend me. I don't want to be the reason you lose focus. Bartlet's a good man, and you need to get him re-elected. Don't waste energy or time on a losing cause. I'm leaving." 

"You know, when I talked to Leo, he seemed to think that the reason you were considering resigning was because you thought it was best for the campaign," Josh says pensively. 

"Yeah…so?" 

"Now I'm beginning to think it has more to do with you wanting to take the easy way out. If you don't think you can handle the job anymore, just say so. But don't pretend this is some act of self- sacrifice." 

I wonder for a moment how he can move from `don't go' and `we're here for you' to `stop being a selfish bitch' so quickly. Maybe I'll ask him sometime, but for now, anger travels through my veins like lightning. He refuses to look away from me, even though I can see the regret written plainly in his eyes. I think of all the things I should say, and of all the things I shouldn't say. I don't know how long I stand there before I finally speak, but it seems like hours. 

"Fuck you, Josh," I say simply as I brush past him to the door. 

++++ 

I lose myself in the curl of smoke and don't bother acknowledging the footsteps behind me. I know it's Sam without turning around because he is the only one brave enough to seek me out. 

"I didn't know you smoked," he says conversationally as he sits beside me on the hay-covered floor. 

"I don't." 

"Well, I hate to tell you this, CJ, but you've got a cigarette in your hand." 

"Don't, Sam." 

"Don't what?" 

"Don't try to be funny." 

He sighs in frustration and leans his head back against the wall. "What are you doing out here?" 

"I'm hoping there's a poisonous snake hiding in here somewhere." 

He snorts and studies my profile because I refuse to look at him. He reaches out to touch my arm, but I pull away suddenly because I'm afraid I'll fall apart if I feel the tenderness in his fingers. He doesn't understand that though, so he gets to his feet and starts pacing angrily in front of me. 

"Help me out here, CJ. How can we make this better for you? How can we make it so that you don't hide in the barn smoking like a fucking chimney, or drinking your weight in Jack Daniels?" 

Angry Sam is a Very Hot Sam. His cheeks are flushed with exasperation, and his eyes are so fiery that I contemplate taking him right there on the floor in front of God and the horses. He doesn't notice the desire in my eyes, however, and glares at me until I answer. 

"There's nothing you can do, Spanky," I begin, only to be interrupted by Sam as he throws his arms into the air. 

"Jesus Fucking Christ, CJ. Stop treating me like your little brother. I'm your equal, all right? I'm a grown man." 

"I know," I say quietly. I almost crack under the intensity of his stare and so I look down at the burning cigarette in my hand, flicking away the gray ashes and stubbing out the butt before it reaches my fingers. "My mom used to smoke." 

I feel his curiosity as he squats before me and places both hands on the floor to steady himself. "What are you talking about?" 

I look into his azure eyes and shrug. "My mom used to smoke…when I was growing up. I like the smell because it reminds me of her, so you know, when I've had a bad day, or when I feel homesick, I just like to light one up. I don't smoke them." I smile sheepishly and duck my head again. "I know it sounds stupid, but—" 

"No, no. It's not stupid." His voice is rough and before I know what's happening, he leans forward and presses his lips against mine. 

"Sam, we can't do this. It was a one time thing," I whisper as I push him away gently. "I told you this morning that—" 

"I know," he breathes as he stands up again. "I'm sorry, you just looked so beautiful." 

I blush and shake my head. "Connie's nice, Sam. You should ask her out to dinner." 

His eyes narrow and his voice becomes dangerously quiet. "Pardon me?" 

I climb to my feet and nervously push a strand of hair out of my eyes. "I was just thinking that maybe you'd enjoy each other's company, you know? She—" 

"Do me a favor, CJ, and stay out of my love-life. I mean," he laughs bitterly, "You are the last person I'd ever take advice from in that department." 

I smile humorlessly at his observation. "You said it wouldn't mean anything, Sam. Why do I get the feeling that you're pissed at me because I don't want the same thing you do?" 

"You know what? I get it, CJ. You don't want to explore any potential relationship with me…I can handle it. Just don't try to set me up with women, ok? Damn it." Sam pounds the wall as he turns to walk away. He stops suddenly and faces me once more. "I know I told you it would just be mindless no-strings attached sex, but I can't help feeling this way." He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. "Give me a few days." 

The pain in his eyes is almost too much to bear, and I feel I owe him some measure of honesty. "Everything I touch turns to shit, Sam." 

He doesn't reply, and for a moment I don't think he's heard me. But then he crosses the distance between us until he is mere centimeters away. I reach out tentatively and smooth the front of his jacket. "I want you so bad it hurts…but I don't want to hurt you. And—" 

He presses me roughly against the wall, pinning my arms above my head and cutting off my words with an urgent kiss. "I can take care of myself, CJ. Let me worry about the repercussions. Right now, I just want to make love to you," he murmurs as his lips move across my jaw. 

Alarms go off in my head, because clearly this isn't just sex to him anymore. While I don't think he loves me, I know he's beginning to care about me in a way that can only end in heartbreak. I have to end this; I have to end this now. 

My resolve begins to weaken when he nips gently at my earlobe and pushes his knee between my thighs. This is wrong, but damn it, I'm past the point of caring when he finally pulls away in order to ascertain my intent. I claim his lips hungrily and smile when he moans in pleasure. 

I wrestle my hands free from his grasp and push his jacket over his shoulders. "Too many clothes, Sam." 

-fin-

…to be continued…

+++++

__

Time no good

wisdom no good

patience no good

to me anymore

Now the night had fallen on the stair

some things you do you can never repair

seems I'm always pretending

things aren't there when they are

And the leaves are nearly off the trees

and the traffic thick past yellow windows

I'm waiting in the frozen headlights

thinking of you

And the trees are looking like bones

and the afternoon's filled with storm and rain

I'm staring out of this metal train

thinking of you

and the trees are looking like bones

the afternoon filled with rain and storm

and I'm tangled up in memory's thorns

no way through

Trees like bones, yellow windows

memories, thorns, oh and you

--Wisdom, David Gray--


	4. Lead Me Upstairs

Lead Me Upstairs, by Sid  


Category: CJ/Sam, post-ep Manchester II, angst a-plenty   


Rating: R for language and a little continuation of the sumthin'-sumthin'   


Summary: I told her people had been talking about how dark she was inside.   


Disclaimer: They weren't mine before and I'm pretty sure they're not mine now. I am, however, willing to negotiate.   


Thanks: To the muy bonita mamacita Jessiquita.   


Note: Fourth installment in the newly-christened 'Shades of Gray' series (David Gray rocks and rules). Stories are: 1) Flesh, 2) Red Moon, 3) Wisdom. 

________________________

I have my fantasies like everyone else, and they're probably about as adventurous as the next guy's: sudden passion with a stranger on an elevator; Isabella Rossellini on a sandy beach; my high school crush tracking me down all these years later and confessing she's carried a torch for me since we were kids. You know, pretty standard stuff. Nothing your average guy couldn't relate to; just your general sexy, well-lit, run-of-the-mill romantic settings. Nothing fancy. 

And yet suddenly, making love to CJ Cregg on the hay-covered floor of a chilly, musty, darkened New England barn has left all other fantasies choking on its dust. 

I want her. I need her. 

She feels so good. 

Her cold hands are on my bare chest, separating my shirt from my body. We're kissing and she's making these soft noises that do crazy things to my senses. I don't think we're saying much, just murmuring each other's name and things like, 'Hurry' and 'Please'. She's smiling now, I can feel her lips curl against mine, and I'm inexplicably happy that I've done my part to bring that incredible smile back to her gorgeous face, to take away some of that pain and sadness she's carried with her for so many weeks now. 

I lay her back against a pile of hay, my palms resting on either side of her. 

"Sam," she murmurs, her eyes closed, her head thrown back as I lean over her. 

"Claudia," I whisper, because 'CJ' just doesn't sound right. 'CJ' isn't the right name for this incredible woman who's currently driving me crazy. I raise my mouth from its place at her throat. She opens her eyes then and gazes down at me. Her irises are a curious, smoky blend of green and blue. She smiles at me and traces a finger along my cheekbone. 

"What?" she asks, kissing my jaw. "Sam, what is it?" 

I want to tell her that this is different than last night, that I don't want this to be a mindless nothing, that I want to be here for her in every sense of the word. I want to ask her if she's half as attracted to me as I am to her. A million words are rushing to my mouth, but with another look in her hazy eyes I realize now is hardly the time. I'm still too confused myself; I have no right hoping for answers from her. 

"Nothing," I say, smiling softly as I dive for her mouth again. 

We kiss a while longer, her hands warming underneath my shirt as they rest on my bare back. She feels good pressed up against me like this, warm and soft and pliant, more curves than sharpness. A guy could get used to this. 

"Do you have to do this *now*?" 

The voice pierces through our reverie sharply, accusingly, and CJ and I freeze, her mouth at my neck, my arms still around her. I can feel her heart pounding against me. We're concentrating so hard on quieting our raspy breathing that it takes us a moment to realize that we're hidden behind a stall, away from view, and that the now- familiar voice was not addressing us. 

"Um, yes, yes I do." 

It's Toby and Josh. They both sound vaguely irritated. 

"CJ's a big girl, Josh, she can find her way home on her own." 

"Oh that's chivalrous of you. CJ!" Josh aims his voice at the center of the barn. "CJ, you hiding in here?" 

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Toby intones dryly. 

Josh tries again. "CJ!" 

"Josh, let's *go*." Toby tacks his signature world-weary sigh at the end of his words. 

"I know I saw her come in here," Josh mutters distractedly. His voice rises and falls, as if he's moving around the barn. "I swear to God, Claudia Jean, if this is some deranged form of punishment, I'll wring your sweet little neck the next time I see you." 

My heart rate accelerates alarmingly. CJ and I haven't moved once for fear of giving ourselves away. We're pressed closely together, holding each other tightly, but for the moment it's not romantic, it's merely uncomfortable. 

"Call her cell," Toby suggests. 

"Okay, that's actually a good idea." 

"Shit," CJ whispers to me a second later. "Where's my jacket?" 

"What?" 

"My jacket!" she hisses in my ear as Toby and Josh argue in the background. "My cell's in it. They'll hear the ringing!" 

"Oh. *Oh*." Realization hits me and we both begin to scramble around the hay, searching for CJ's jacket, cursing ourselves silently for flinging it so far away. 

I've never thought of hay as particularly noisy, but just now, as we both search slowly along the floor, every rustle sounds like an air raid siren. Plus, you know, I do *not* recommend crawling along a hay- filled barn with your shirt off. Definitely not comfortable. 

CJ finally finds her jacket, yanking the still-silent cell phone out of the depths of her pocket. In the dusky light of the barn's lamp she quickly turns off the ringer and we both breathe a sigh of relief, collapsing back onto a haystack. 

By which time we notice that Josh and Toby are already gone. 

We're suddenly struck by a fit of giggles similar to those you would normally find at a grade school slumber party. We try to stifle the noise in case someone comes back, but after a second all that nervous energy gets the better of us and we're practically rolling on the floor--in a vastly different manner than we were a few minutes before, needless to say. 

We've gone from late-night Cinemax to an after-school special in five minutes flat. 

Her laughter subsiding, CJ wipes her eyes and says, "That was..." 

"Close," I say. 

"Frighteningly so." 

"No kidding." 

"I should call Josh." 

"Yeah. You know how he worries." 

"Yeah." CJ nods, then sighs a moment later. "Toby, on the other hand, didn't seem terribly concerned." 

"To hell with Toby," I offer recklessly. 

"Easy for you to say." She sounds weary, as if she hadn't been laughing like a teenager just seconds ago. "Oh God..." Suddenly she leans forward, bending her body in half, thrusting her face into her hands. 

"CJ?" I don't think I've ever seen her quite like this. She's not crying, but her posture is so defeated, as if she's given up all hope. I can't stand to see her this way. CJ is so strong--so damned strong. She has all the weaknesses of one who lives with an idealist's heart in a realist's world, but she still intimidates me with her strength. To see her like this--the indomitable CJ Cregg--is proof that things are different now, and if they're ever going to get back to normal, I have to start acting differently as well. 

I draw her into my arms, pulling her up close against me. She's still not crying, but despair radiates off her like a heat wave. I say, "Toby's just--he's just being Toby." 

She laughs again, mirthlessly this time. "This isn't about Toby, Sam, you know that." 

For a moment I let her words sink in. I have to speak carefully now. "You're losing faith in yourself, CJ," I tell her, tangling my fingers in her soft hair. I gaze out at the interiors of the barn, the long-neglected bridles, the faded walls, the gentle light of the lamp. "It's okay to lose faith in other things sometimes. Sometimes that happens. Sometimes people, or--or things...sometimes they don't deserve our trust. But you can't--you can't lose faith in yourself. That would be the ultimate crime, CJ. You'll be okay. You'll be..amazing." 

"Sam," she sighs, sounding frustrated, pulling back from me, taking her warmth away. 

I wait expectantly. "Yes?" I say finally. 

Her eyes move swiftly away from my face. "You should button your shirt back up." 

"Oh..." My voice trails off, my face flushing hot with embarrassment. "Right." I reach for the buttons, bringing the separate folds of my shirt together as I begin to fasten it. I'm halfway through the ordeal when suddenly her hand blocks my path, slipping past the collar to rest on my shoulder. She's cold again and I shiver at her touch, but I don't want her to take her hand away. 

We sit that way for a little while, her hand on my skin, my fingers still clutching my shirt. Her head is turned down as she looks at me. "Sam," she says, in a voice that hints at questions to come, "last night--in the hotel room...Why me?" Her thumb slowly massages my shoulder. 

"Excuse me?" I wasn't expecting this question. 

"You could have invited anyone up there." 

"I invited you." 

Her eyes flash at me in irritation and she removes her hand, slipping it out from under my shirt. "Yeah, but why did you?" she asks insistently. "Why not Donna, or Cathy, or Connie, or the *maid*?" 

"I don't think I see the relevance here," I say. 

"There are a lot of women you could have asked up to your room for a night of meaningless screwing, Sam. Why the hell did you choose me?" All of a sudden she sounds hostile, her voice a challenge. 

My temper flares then too. "That's not why I 'chose' you, as you so delicately put it," I shoot back. "I had no intention of asking you to sleep with me, CJ. I asked you up to talk to me and drink with me. Things just--happened, that's all." 

"Yeah," she sniffs. "They happened all right." 

"Look...I'm sorry about this morning, about, you know, embarrassing you like that. I didn't mean to push. I shouldn't have." 

"Damn skippy!" she exclaims. "You stipulated no strings attached, Sam, and I agreed. You had no *right* to turn around the next day and ask for more!" 

Her anger alarms me. I reach for her hand but she pushes me away. "CJ, where is all this coming from?" 

"Why did you come to me that night at *all*, Sam? Why did you ask me up for drinks and talking? A month ago you and I could barely keep our claws sheathed around each other, and suddenly you decide we're drinking buddies?" 

"Oh, like you don't know," I say, sounding for all the world like my mother arguing with my father. Jesus. 

"You were worried about me," she says flatly. 

"Yes." 

"You thought I was some goddamn damsel in distress." 

"No," I say, but she doesn't seem to hear me. 

"You thought you'd charge in on your fucking white horse and do the selfless thing by worrying about *me* for a change." 

I wince at the implication, the words she's not saying rather than the words she is. "That's not fair, CJ." 

"Oh, fair, fair, *fair*," she replies fiercely, her voice low. "Who cares about fair? Fair would have been a comforting word from you, or Josh, or Toby--a comforting word, Sam, after the way I--" 

"You wouldn't let us *near* you," I remind her, stunned that she seems to be rewriting history. 

"Okay fine, that first *hour* I wouldn't let you near me. But after that, Sam...all those hours after that, when you were all strategizing and planning how best to fix Claudia Jean's *screw*-up, and I was sitting in my office feeling sick to my stomach...What about then, Sam?" 

I don't answer. Anything I say right now would be wrong anyway, so why bother? 

And just as quickly the anger seems to dissipate, and CJ sits there on the pile of hay, looking deflated once more. "I know what you all think of me," she says quietly. 

"No," I say, "you don't. You don't have a clue." 

"Leo made himself abundantly clear." 

"Leo acted like an ass, CJ. We're all allowed to do that sometimes. I'm not saying he was right and I'm not saying I wouldn't be pissed if I were in your shoes...But he's human. He's thoughtless sometimes." 

I see her shake her head in the dusky light, looking away from me, hands folded together, shirt still partly undone. She's so beautiful it makes me hurt. "The things he said to me, Sam..." Her voice fades away. 

I swallow a wave of desire and focus on the task at hand. "Look...CJ, you know we're not one big, happy family. We're not now and we never have been. But we handle things. We get through them." 

"We beat each other up, Sam." 

"And then we buy each other a beer and come back for more." 

CJ exhales in a light chuckle, rewarding me for my words by brushing her hand lingeringly on my thigh. "You're a regular Mary Sunshine, aren't you?" 

At least she's not calling me 'Spanky'. I can live with that. "I have my moments," I agree. 

"But it's gonna take more than a little sunshine to change what's inside of me right now, Sam." Her head lifts and our eyes meet in the lamplight. I see the truth of her statement reflected in her gaze, but there is also caution there, a guarded look. She's testing me, slowly but surely revealing tiny bits of herself, trusting me. I hope to God I'm measuring up. 

"Well, we just take these things one day at a time," I assure her, catching her hand in mine and lacing our fingers together. I like the way our hands look like this. I study her short, carefully-sculpted fingernails, marveling at the way the tiniest details captivate me. Just a little over twenty-four hours ago this woman was my friend and nothing more; I would never have contemplated doing anything to mar the delicate lines of our friendship the way I'm contemplating now. What a difference a day can make. 

"Sam." Her voice is low and throaty, and when I look back up at her, the sadness is gone and she's fixing me with an impossibly smoldering gaze. Suddenly she's some sultry forties screen siren, all smoky eyes and curving lips. She's Marlene Dieterich and Lana Turner and Katharine Hepburn all rolled into one. She's amazing. 

"Yeah?" I think my voice just squeaked there. 

"You know, today, when you were wearing that white tshirt?" 

"Yeah?" I raise an eyebrow, puzzled. 

"With the blue shirt kind of unbuttoned here?" She indicates a spot near her chest. 

"Yeah?" 

"I liked it," she says simply, but her eyes are dancing. 

"You liked it?" I repeat like an idiot. Then I catch her look and comprehension dawns. A satisfactory feeling washes through me as I grin. "Ohhh...you *liked* it." Oh yeah. I am *so* feeling like The Man right now. 

CJ Cregg has turned into a veritable sex siren before my very eyes. She's practically draped across the haystack, seductive and tempting, yet also a bit flirtatious. I think I'm drooling. "I liked it," she repeats. "It was sexy." 

This is very difficult to adjust to. My equilibrium is all off. One minute we're drinking, the next we're making love, the next we're arguing in a coffee shop...She told me there wouldn't be any 'us', yet here we are now. I was convinced she wasn't attracted to me, yet here we are now. 

I like where we are now. 

My breathing shallows as CJ's hand glides up my thigh. "Don't...don't do that..." 

"Don't?" She's puzzled now. Her hand stills. 

"Not here," I clarify. 

CJ agrees, nodding. "Okay, not here." 

"My room." 

She pauses a moment before drawing in a deep breath. "Lead the way," she says. 

These days her moods encompass all four seasons, often in quick succession. She can be as frosty as winter one moment, shutting me out and looking at me with the kind of cool impassivity that burns, and then before I know it she's as warm as a summer's day in Northern California, and she melts against me, around me, right through me. 

I'm sitting on a dilapidated old bench outside of the hotel, and I'm thinking it's been two days since that night in the barn--that night that led us to my room again, that night that caused me to draw ever closer to the brink of something big and scary and exciting. We talk sometimes, we argue sometimes, and we make love again and again. During the day we pretend to be the same old CJ and Sam, but it's hard for me. I feel like it's written on my face every time I look at her, like this hunger in my body is as obvious as the color of my hair. 

Every time she touches me I lose little pieces of myself. Sometimes when I'm alone I feel whole again, the way I did before this all started, but then she comes into the room, or I walk by her in the hall, or I hear her voice, and I'm gone. 

I keep asking myself how the hell this all happened. 

The worst part is that though CJ is in turmoil, it's nothing to do with me. And that hurts. I watch her face as we make love, and I see pleasure and sometimes even passion, but it dies away when it's all over. She lays in my arms stiffly, eyes closed as if she's waiting for it all to be over. She always leaves after I've fallen asleep. She enjoys me--hell, she probably even still likes me--but her heart is not in any of this. 

I'm not sure mine is either, to tell you the truth. At least, not yet. But I know that as I draw closer to that big, scary, exciting precipice, my heart will most surely become involved. I'm not looking forward to that. It's bad enough right now, wanting CJ to be with me with more than just her body; I can't imagine how much it will hurt when I fall in love with her. 

Wait. If. I meant 'if'. 

"Hi there." She's here suddenly, sliding sideways onto the bench next to me. She slips one long leg underneath her and turns to me, her breast pressing into my side. "Am I interrupting some deep, soul- searching thoughts?" 

"Nah," I reply easily, tracing the lines of her hand with my forefinger. "Just relaxing." 

"Mmm," she murmurs, yawning. She scoots closer and rests her head on my shoulder. 

"You know, we leave tomorrow, CJ." 

"I know." 

"Bright and early." 

"Yeah." 

"Back to DC." 

She raises her head then and I can feel her eyes on me even though I'm not looking at her. "Spill it, Sam." 

And then I ask her the question I've wanted to ask her for three days now, the question I've been afraid of. I still don't really want to ask her, but I have to. I know that once we get back to DC everything will change again, only this time maybe I can prepare myself. 

"What--what happens?" I begin tentatively. "To us, I mean. I mean, I know there isn't an 'us', but...what happens to us? In DC, I mean, because...you know, we're going back." Oh yeah, I am so suave. 

She has moved as far away from me as she can get without falling off the bench. "I don't know," she replies, not looking at me. "I hadn't really thought about it." 

Well, that hurts. I'm over here wondering and worrying what's to become of us, drowning in my own angst, and she hasn't even really thought about it? 

I'll try again. "Because I'd like to know. CJ, you've got to let me know." 

"Should I stay or should I go-o-o-o?" she sings tunelessly in response. 

"Yeah, bringing the Clash lyrics really answers my question," I retort, wishing she wasn't so close and didn't smell so damn good. Wanting to take her right here, right now, on the main street of Anytown, USA isn't helping my frame of mind. 

"I don't know what happens when we get back to DC, Sam," she flashes, finally turning to face me. "Why does anything have to *happen*?" 

"What are you suggesting? Are you suggesting that we just go on like this?" 

She shrugs as if it doesn't matter to her one way or the other. And maybe it doesn't. "Or not," she says. "We can stop right now." 

I suck my breath in sharply. "Oh. Okay." 

"The sex is good, Sam, maybe even great, but is it worth disrupting our lives over?" 

Yeah, because it hasn't already. I snort indelicately but keep that thought to myself. 

"Let us not forget that *you* were the one who initiated this--this *thing*," she emphasizes the word by waving her hand in the air, "the first time *and* the second, and the third, fourth, and fifth if I recall correctly." 

"Yeah, yeah," I cut in, bitterness lacing my words. "I'm a horny bastard, is that what you're trying to say?" 

CJ softens again and moves her body back up against mine. Then she does this thing that I love, where she takes one hand and lays her palm flat against my stomach; it feels tender and yet possessive at the same time. "Sam," her voice is low, "what I'm trying to say is that you're the one risking yourself here." 

"And you're not? You're giving me your body, CJ, maybe even a little bit of your--" 

"Don't say it, Sam," she warns me. "Just don't. Because you're wrong. I don't care about my body, I don't care about my heart, I don't care about anything except the pleasure I feel when I'm with you. It's good. I need it. But when it's over, Sam..." She sighs deeply, looks up at the stars for a moment and then returns to the conversation. "When it's over, and I'm laying there with you, all I'm thinking is that I'm hurting you. I'm ruining you. I'm ruining you the way I ruin everything." 

"You're not--" 

"You're so beautiful, Sam," she says softly, as if she hasn't heard me. "You're so damn beautiful. I look at you, and I just...And I'm ruining you." 

"CJ, don't talk like that." 

"This can't be what you think it can be, Sam. It just can't. I know you're not in love with me, but you're also not the kind of man who can go on settling for less. You shouldn't have to. You deserve better than me using you this way. You deserve something real, and if that's what you want, then we have to end this right now." 

I can't speak or breathe for a few minutes. Until she actually spoke the words I hadn't allowed myself to consider the fact that she might be using me. The announcement has hit me like a physical blow and it takes a moment to recover. "Fine," I say, clearing my throat. 

She pauses. "Fine?" she repeats in a strangled voice. 

But it's my turn to ignore her. "If I can help you through whatever's going on inside of you, CJ, I will. If I'm any help at all, even if I just help you forget--" 

She interrupts me, emitting a loud groan. I watch as she shakes her head at the ground. "No, no, *no*, Sam, you're just not getting it." 

"I *am* getting it. I'm getting it, CJ! When you're with me, you can forget the darkness." 

"No, Sam, I *am* the darkness!" 

Under less strenuous circumstances that declaration would make us laugh and do Darth Vader impressions right now. Instead her words ring out into the night and we both sit back, stunned at the forcefulness, at the truth. 

And I think, I want her so badly it hurts. If she's in the darkness, I want to be her light. 

I've never been in any relationship where the dynamics have changed as swiftly, as stunningly, as they have with CJ and me in a matter of days. I'm trying to adjust, but just when I think I have, she throws something new at me. 

I'm not in love with her, but I want to be with her. And I know that if I want to be with her, if I want to be able to touch her and taste her and get through to the pain that still hasn't gone away, then I have to take whatever she's willing to offer. Because she's wrong: I *am* willing to settle for less--if I know that eventually I can have it all. 

"Sam, be honest with me. Do you want more than I think you do? I need you to tell me the truth." 

I look at her, overwhelmed by her. I can't form a response right away, but then I do. "No," I say. "I don't want more." The words sound hollow, but I force them out anyway. 

It's an act of self-preservation. It's a lie--the first time I've ever lied to CJ--because right now I can't comprehend what telling the truth would bring. She would take herself away from me, and I don't know what that would do to me. 

So I lie, and CJ relaxes and smiles at me. We get to our feet and we walk into the hotel, not touching, until we get to the staircase. She takes my hand and leads me to her room, where we will talk and make love and pretend we never had this conversation. 

Her room, where I will fight back the worry and the wondering and the darkness that spreads in her body and in her heart. 

-FIN-

____________________________

__

I care little for my body, she said

I couldn't care less about my soul

And as she led me upstairs in whispers

my whole summer turned cold

I'll lead you upstairs

I'll lead you upstairs

If you've got no worris

then I've got no cares

I'll lead you upstairs

I told her people had been talking

about how dark she was inside

She said, My hopes are buried in the soil

deep in the earth outside

And with one twist of the world

she brought me to her side

She asked me for the truth one time

and all I did was lie

I'll lead you upstairs

I'll lead you upstairs

If you've got no worries

then I've got no cares

I'll lead you upstairs

--Lead Me Upstairs, David Gray--


	5. Falling Free

Falling Free, by Jess  


Category: Post-ep, The Ways and Means CJ/Sam  


Rating: R for language and other stuff.  


Summary: All my senses overthrown by the might of your skin.  


Disclaimer: Oh Captain, my Captain, these fabulous characters belong to THE Aaron Benjamin Sorkin and not to me. Pity.  


Thanks: The one, the only, the never lonely, Sidalicious.  


Notes: Fifth in the Shades of Gray Series (go Kel, shake it, don't break it, took your mama nine months to make it) which is as follows: 1) Flesh, 2) Red Moon, 3) Wisdom, 4) Lead me Upstairs 

+++++++++

For a few cowardly moments I will never be able to completely forgive myself for, I thought about getting in my car and just leaving. I wouldn't have looked back either. I could have retired to a villa in France or maybe a small cottage by the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland. I just wanted to be as far away from this scandal as possible. 

There were tearful conversations over the phone with my mother, there were shouting matches with Leo, there were subtle reprimands from the First Lady, there was sex with Sam; amazing, spine-tingling, mind-blowing sex. And then there was an apology from the President. 

And that almost makes everything else obsolete. 

Things aren't perfect by any stretch of the imagination. I'm still angry at the lies and the cover up, at my horrendous mistake. But Sam was right: we are a dysfunctional family, but a family nonetheless. Josh reaches over and takes a swig of my beer, ignoring my look of protest. Most of the earlier assembled crowd has scattered back to their offices or homes as the case may be, and only Josh and I are left standing in the middle of the bullpen. 

"You've done well, Claudia Jean," he beams as he sets the beer on Bonnie's desk. 

"Well thank you Mister Lyman," I laugh as I pat his arm and move to walk past him. 

"I mean it," he continues as he follows me into my office. "This strategy, it's...it's--" 

"Brilliant? Genius? Intelligent? Splendid?" 

"Splendid?" he teases as he watches me gather my things. 

"Ballerina, Josh?" 

"I told you! I didn't know what it was." 

"Well, I think you would have looked cute in a tutu," I smile. 

He rolls his eyes and leans against the doorjamb. "So, I didn't get a chance to apologize." 

"Apologize for what?" 

"For what I said to you...you know in Manchester. I didn't really mean it. I was just trying to bait you, anger is much more constructive than...than whatever the hell it was you were feeling." 

"Quite honestly, I was treating that conversation like every other one I've had with you, so I wasn't really paying attention to what you were saying." 

He smiles and throws his hands up because he knows he's forgiven. "So, how `bout we go out and celebrate?" 

"No can do, mi amor." 

"What, you got a hot date or something?" 

"Yep." 

Josh arches his eyebrow and moves aside so I can shut the door behind us. "What's his name?" 

"Pledge." 

"What kind of name is...wait a minute. You're going home to--" 

"Clean, yes." Josh looks at me dubiously and I laugh. "Don't mock the cleaning. I haven't been able to dust in weeks. I have to clean out my fridge, vacuum the floor, scour the--" 

"Ok. I get it. Try not to have too much fun," he calls over his shoulder as he heads back to his office, muttering something about women and mops. 

I drop past Sam's office, but his lights are out and my curiosity is piqued. Cathy smiles at me as she shrugs into her blazer. "He left about twenty minutes ago. He's still feeling pretty down." 

"About Victor Campos?" 

"Yeah." 

"Ok, listen, I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Yeah...great job, CJ." 

I smile at her and feel lighter than I have in weeks. Oliver accused me of trying to get back into the game with one swing, and maybe he's right. But this is what I do, and I haven't felt this confident in quite some time. I know Sam has a lot to do with that, and I try not to think about how much I have come to depend upon his comforting touch. 

I don't love him. And there are moments when I study him in sleep and wonder why I'm allowing myself to use his body. But then he touches me, and I'm lost. Has it only been a week since that first night in Manchester? His hands map my body expertly, and I wonder how it's possible that he has somehow gained this intimate knowledge of my desires in such a short time. 

His touch is reverent, worshipful even, and his tenderness makes me cry when I'm alone in the shower. I know that one day he's going to realize the sex isn't enough for him. He's going to demand so much more than I can ever give him. And he'll be left with a broken heart, and I'll be left with this black emptiness. 

+++++++ 

Somber is a word I could use to describe him right now. Sullen, as a word, would be better. He answers his door barefoot, wearing a well-worn pair of dark blue sweats, and a stark white tank top. I silently observe him for a moment, taking in his broad shoulders and sculpted arms. His fists clench at his side and I smile as he unknowingly flexes his biceps. Damn, he's sexy. 

"I brought food," I begin, holding up the plastic bag from the local taqueria. "So invite me in now or I'm going to take my loot elsewhere." 

He sighs, but the corners of his mouth turn up slightly, and I know he's happy to see me. He steps aside and takes the food from my hands, leaving me to shut the door and turn the locks. I set my purse down on the over-stuffed chair in the corner and allow my eyes to roam over the rest of his apartment. I have to admit that the man has great taste in décor, and well, women. 

His wood floors are polished to an almost blinding shine, and a simple Oriental rug lies in the middle of his living room, lending a refined touch to the rest of the apartment. I run my hand along the back of his plush couch and smile as I think of our lovemaking the night before. It's long enough to accommodate my legs, and wide enough to fit both our frames. It was an interesting experience to say the least. 

I notice he has the TV set to C-Span and I wince slightly at the visuals of the fire sweeping cross Yellowstone. He's been obsessive about this for the past week and I wonder if I should be more concerned about it myself. I walk over and turn the TV off, powering the stereo up instead. I wait until UB40 begins singing about Red, Red wine before making my way into the kitchen. 

"CJ, this isn't fresh Mex," Sam says, eyeing me in disapproval. 

"No, Sam. This is actually real Mexican food with, get this, grease. You'll love it," I reply as I move to his cabinet to take out two plates. 

"This isn't healthy." 

"No, but you go to the gym like every single day. I'm sure one chicken burrito isn't going to kill you." 

He rolls his eyes at me, but accepts the plates from my hand. I squeeze past him, trailing my fingers across his lower back as I rifle through the silverware drawer. I stop suddenly as the domesticity of the scene strikes me. I know where he keeps everything; his wineglasses and fine china, his forks, knives and spoons, his coffee mugs and Tupperware. What the hell am I doing? 

"What is it?" 

I turn around to find him regarding me curiously. "Um, nothing." 

"CJ, what is it?" 

"Nothing, nothing. I just, uh, remembered something I forgot at the office." 

"What?" 

"It's not important. Come on and let's eat. I'm starving." 

He smiles at me indulgently, but his eyes look so incredibly weary that it takes all I have not to drag him off to bed to heal him the only way I know how. As soon as we're seated at the table, I arch my eyebrow and lean forward. 

"So, I didn't know you could speak Spanish." 

"I minored in it," he replies almost absently as he rubs his fingers across his forehead. 

I'm learning more about Sam every day, and I don't know whether to be frightened or delighted. "You know, Spanish is an excellent language with which to woo." 

"Woo?" 

"Oh shut up, and speak to me en espanol." 

He looks into my eyes for a moment and shakes his head. "Maybe later." 

"You're no fun, you know that?" He doesn't answer and I reach across the table to place my hand over his. 

"You know, Sam, I don't think Connie meant to undermine you--" 

"Like hell. She knew what she was doing." 

"No, I really don't think she did." 

"She didn't ask to speak to me outside the room, CJ. You weren't there...she just, she just cut in when I told her to stay out of my way." 

"I hope you said it nicer than that." 

"No, I said it exactly like that." 

"Oh, Sam," I sigh as I pull my hand away. "They're here to help, you know? It's not their fault that..." I trail off because I don't feel the need to continue. 

But obviously Sam does. "What? That the President lied, and now we might be indicted so we can't run our own damn campaign?" 

"Yeah." I wait for him to calm down and then smile. "The reason I don't think Connie intentionally set out to undermine you is because she has a crush on you." 

His eyes blaze angrily and I wonder if I've crossed the line with my teasing. "Will you please stop with the Connie shit?" 

He pushes his chair away from the table roughly and stands up to pace the kitchen. He really has no idea how hot he's making me right now. His hair is a bit disheveled and his eyes are several shades darker than normal. And don't get me started on the light flush across his cheeks and neck. I stand up too and approach him cautiously. 

"I'm sorry, Sam. I was only--" 

"No, I'm sorry," he interrupts as he takes one of my hands, running a finger gently across my knuckles. "I'm not angry at you, I'm just..." 

"Angry at the situation," I finish softly for him. 

"Yeah," he agrees as he suddenly pulls me towards his body. "Let's dance," he whispers. 

I tighten my arms around his waist as we sway slowly in his kitchen. I don't mind my height so much when he buries his face against my neck and inhales deeply. I feel his smile against my skin and gasp at the feather-light kisses he showers across my bare shoulder. "You smell so good." 

I gently stroke his back and place my lips at his temple. "I still maintain that Connie has an itch for you." 

"Well, as long as we're talking about crushes, what about Bruno?" he asks as he pulls away slightly. 

"What about him?" 

"Oh come on, CJ. You have a great body?" 

"He was just stating the obvious...and how did you hear about that?" 

"Doesn't matter, but that comment was out of place. What if a reporter had over-heard? There'd be stories about torrid affairs in the White House, and--" 

I laugh incredulously at his expression and caress the side of his face. "You're jealous!" 

He opens his mouth to protest and then sighs. "I am, in fact, jealous." I laugh again and he pinches me lightly in the side. "This is the part where you tell me I have nothing to be afraid of." 

I sober immediately and capture his lips for a moment. "Oh, Sam. I promise you never have to worry about Bruno Gianelli. Now, Lord John Marbury on the other hand..." 

He grins and shrugs his shoulders. "I can't compete with a perpetually inebriated Englishman." 

"He's eccentric," I correct as I trace his lips with my finger. 

"Riiiiiight. Now, can I go eat before that gut bomb gets cold?" 

"You're the one who wanted to dance Mr. Astaire." 

"Details," he mutters as he sits down at the table again, eyeing his half-eaten burrito warily. 

+++++ 

"So, I brought you a happy," I say suddenly as he sits heavily on the couch after the dishes have been washed. 

"A happy?" 

"Yeah, you know, a present?" 

"Is it a life-size cardboard cut-out of Angelina Jolie?" 

"If you want to get laid tonight, I suggest you refrain from mentioning other women in my presence." 

"This is me, shutting up," he says seriously as he meets my gaze. 

"Good, now..." I open my purse and pull out the Carolina Blue hat I ordered on-line. "I thought you might like something to go along with your Duke pennant," I say as I toss the cap towards him. 

He narrows his eyes as he throws the hat to the ground. "CJ, this is a UNC cap. This is the Tarheels." 

"I know," I smile sweetly as I sit beside him. "I just thought you might like to own something from a team that doesn't, you know, suck." 

"Don't diss the Blue Devils," he says petulantly as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Bobby Hurley, Grant Hill, and Christian Laettner, any of those names ring a bell? Not to mention Mike Krzyzewski, arguably the best coach in the history of the NCAA. You want to talk defense?" 

"No, I'd rather talk offense," I whisper as I pull his earlobe between my teeth. I smile as he shivers and threads his fingers through my hair. 

"CJ?" 

"Hmmm?" 

"Do you know even one player from UNC?" 

"No." 

"Then why--" 

"You get all puffed up when you talk about Duke," I say simply as I gently flit my tongue out to lick a spot just below his ear. "I remember all those stupid debates you and Leo got into during the campaign. Who cares about hockey?" 

"Basketball, CJ. It's basketball," he corrects, just before he moans in pleasure. 

"I know, I'm joking when I do this." 

"Oh God, I hope not," he breathes as he pulls my face to his, covering my parted lips with his own. 

His tongue darts into my mouth to tangle erotically with mine. I get lost in the sensation of taste and texture and pull away breathlessly as he starts moving his hands beneath my blouse. His eyes are clouded with desire and I smile as his movements still at my back. 

"Josh told me, you know." 

"Told you what?" he asks in frustration as he leans forward and tries to silence me with a kiss. 

"He told me you wanted to be a fireman when you were little." 

"Well, it's better than a ballerina, isn't it?" 

I cock my head to the side and pretend to mull it over. "Well, dancers are quite flexible, you know." 

He stares at me for a moment before quickly jumping to his feet. "Oh yeah? Could a ballerina do this?" 

And before I can contemplate what `this' is, he throws my arm around his neck and hauls me over his shoulder. I squeal--yes squeal--in surprise and delight as he carries me off to the bedroom effortlessly. 

++++++ 

His chest rises and falls gently under my head and I listen intently to the sound of his beating heart. I idly trace a pattern on his rippled abdomen with my fingertip and prepare to pull myself from his embrace. I have to orchestrate my movements carefully, but I've been sneaking out of beds before morning long enough to know exactly how to control my limbs. Sam stirs slightly as I sit on the edge of the bed, but his breathing indicates sleep and I relax a little. I try to locate my clothes in the darkness, but don't recognize anything from my vantagepoint. And then suddenly his arms are around my waist and he pulls me back to rest beside him on the large bed so that he's spooned against my back. 

"I thought you were asleep," I whisper even though there's no one to disturb. 

"I know. You always leave after I've fallen asleep." His voice isn't accusatory, merely accepting. 

"I have to get home. All my clothes--" 

"You could start keeping some things here. There's plenty of room." I stiffen beside him and hope he doesn't notice. But when he pulls me closer and places a hand almost possessively on the curve of my hip, I know my wish was in vain. "I'm not asking you to move in, CJ. I'm just suggesting you keep some things here so you don't have to go sneaking off in the middle of the night." 

"I don't sneak off." 

He sighs against my neck and presses a soft kiss to my shoulder. "Sam, I have to get home." 

He tightens his arm across my chest in response. "Quiero despertarse al lado de tu." 

"What?" 

"You wanted me to woo you in Spanish," he explains calmly. "I said I want to wake up beside you." 

I smile despite myself and turn to face him. "That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," I admit honestly. 

"So you'll stay?" 

"No, I have to go." 

He must hear the hard finality in my voice because he loosens his grip and allows me to stand up. I find my skirt thrown across his dresser and begin to zip it up when he clears his throat. 

"Why don't we ever meet at your apartment?" 

His question throws me off guard and I stutter a bit. "Um...what?" 

"Why don't we ever meet at your apartment?" he repeats slowly, sitting up to lean against the headboard. 

"Do we have to have this conversation now?" I ask impatiently as I pull my blouse on. 

"Yes." 

"Well, it's um, it's because of my cat, Sam. You're allergic." 

"You don't have a cat," he says angrily. 

"I can get one. I'll name him Fluffy," I reply cheekily, but I know he's not amused because fury rolls off him in waves. 

"Don't get cute with me, CJ. Answer the question." 

"What was the question again?" 

"Why do we only fuck at my place?" 

"Sam!" 

"What?" 

"You make it sound so ugly," I reply softly as I walk to the side of the bed. "Were you lying to me, Sam?" 

"Lying to you about what?" he asks morosely, although some of the anger is gone from his voice. 

"I told you that this could never be what you wanted it to be. I told you I could only offer you my body and nothing else." 

"I know." 

"So why are you pushing for more? If you can't handle this, and I wouldn't blame you, Sam, then you need to tell me. Because I don't want you to start to hate me," 

He reaches for my hand and gently kisses my palm. "I could never hate you." 

I stroke the side of his face and shake my head. "I don't think this is going to work." 

"Yes it is," he disagrees as he places his hand over mine. "I'm sorry about pressuring you...it's just, I want--" 

"You want a normal relationship, and I can't give that to you." 

"I don't want a normal relationship. I want you. And if this is the only way I can have you, then I can deal with it." 

"You deserve more, Sam," I say sadly. 

But I know I'll be in his arms again tomorrow night because I don't have the resolve to walk away when he looks at me like that. A mixture of desire and apology. He pulls me down to the bed again and sweeps several strands of hair away from my face. He leans forward and places a kiss, almost chaste in its brevity, against my lips. 

"No demands, no questions...I just want you." 

His voice is so earnest and sincere that I allow him to undress me again. 

-fin-

++++++++

__

All of my senses overthrown

By the might of your skin

And the lamplight

on your cheek bone

Drawing me further in

No sentence I can speak

For the wonder so unique

Breaking like a wave

upon the shore

Mercy me, I'm falling free

Since you opened the door

See how the sky is

made of sapphire

The colours flowing

through our hands

The moon is fire in your hair

A million miles beyond

what science understands

Smell that mountain heather

I don't remember ever

Feeling like this before

Mercy me, I'm falling free

Since you opened the door

If every windowpane

should shatter

If every wall should fall apart

Well it might hurt a bit,

but would it matter

With this jewel in my heart

No need to nail it to the ground

No need to smother it with sense

Just listen to the rhythm of

your heart that pounds

And trust it all to chance

Cos we're standing face to face

With the angel of grace

Don't it just taste so pure

Mercy me, I'm falling free

Since you opened the door

--Falling Free, David Gray--


	6. Debauchery

Debauchery, by Sid  


Category: CJ/Sam, post-Ways and Means, bit o'angst, bit o' fluff  


Rating: R—language, situations  


Summary: On an overcast day, the pale winter city, an afternoon's debauchery.  


Disclaimer: All these characters and situations belong to me. Every single one of them. Oh, wait, wait…Somehow that seems wrong.  


Thanks: To Jess—One word for you: ZerbeLOVAH!, and to all CJ/Sam fans, without whom we would be a lonely party of two.

_____________________

In the past few weeks I've really gotten the hang of lying. I've never been particularly bad at it, but I've also never been particularly at ease with it, and if the person I'm lying to pays close enough attention, they can usually tell that I'm uncomfortable. But lately, ever since the President's announcement, it's become frighteningly easy for me. I think because I'm doing it so much more often. 

I lie to reporters who ask me if I felt betrayed when the President told me he had kept his MS from me; I lie to my mother when she calls me at night to make sure I'm eating right and sleeping well; I lie when Cathy asks me why I look so tired all the time. In the past week alone I've lied to Connie when she wanted me to admit that I felt the President should apologize to the American people, to Toby when he asked me if I felt I could continue to work with Doug, and to CJ when she asked me if I wanted more of her than she was willing to give me. 

That, of course, was the biggest lie of all. 

There are others; smaller lies, but God, how they add up. I hardly even have to think anymore. I just open my mouth, and out pops something other than the truth. Sometimes I'm shocked at just how easily this stuff comes to me now. 

Take today, for example: It's the fifth time, in as many days, that Josh has asked me out for drinks after work. I've turned him down every time, citing everything from a headache, to having to call my mother, to Toby assigning me extra paperwork. The first couple of times I said no, he just shrugged and walked away, but he's beginning to look at me skeptically, and tonight when he asks, his expression is downright suspicious. 

"You up for a drink?" He's doing that thing Donna calls his 'Inspector Poirot' pose, where he tilts his head to one side and squints his eyes, studying me. He thinks he can read me better than anyone. He has no idea that I've been honing my self-preservation skills lately. 

"Can't," I say automatically. I shuffle some papers unnecessarily, keen on avoiding his gaze. 

"What is it this time? A headache? A phone call from your mother? Does your mother have a headache, Sam?" He's irritated, it doesn't take a genius to figure that out. 

It's none of those things, of course. It's CJ. She's coming over again tonight, for the seventh night in a row. I suppose I should feel smug that she can't seem to stay away, but the fact that she never stays till morning puts a damper on my enthusiasm. I know I should be happy she comes over at all--and I am--but I can't help wanting to find her sleeping beside me first thing in the morning. I can't help wanting to wake up in the middle of the night and feel her body next to mine, hear her soft breathing, smell her warm, sleepy scent. But she never stays. It's driving me crazy. 

Anyway. Back to Josh. 

"Do you just not feel up to it, Sam?" Josh says with a sigh. "'Cause you know, that's all you've gotta say. 'Josh, I don't feel like a drink'. I can take it." 

"Josh, I don't feel like a drink." 

"Why *not*?" he asks, his words bursting out in a small explosion. He shifts forward in the chair and leans across my desk. "What the hell is going on, Sam? You don't talk to me anymore. We never *do* anything anymore." 

I lift an eyebrow in amusement. "I'm sorry, honey, but you know things have been kind of crazy at the office--" 

Josh relaxes then, his forehead smoothing out as he leans back again. He gives me that patented Lyman Smirk and says, "Oh sure, that's what you *say*. Here I slave away every night to have a nice dinner for you when you come home, and you can't even take me out for a drink every once in a while?" 

I give an exaggerated shudder. "Okay, stop it. This isn't funny anymore. You're starting to sound like my mother." 

"Freaky, huh?" he agrees with a chuckle. "Seriously, Sam, I mean-- what's going on? You disappear after work these days. All joking aside, I could use a drink every once in a while, you know?" 

I do know, and frankly, I could use the drink too. Josh may be frenetic and wildly-driven, but despite what people think, his company can actually be quite restful. After the past several days' verbal fencing with Doug and Connie, Toby's vague irritation with everything I say and do, and the insane roller coaster CJ has sent me on, Josh will be downright calming. 

He sees me weakening and decides to make his move. "Come *ooooon*," he wheedles. "I hear that new Irish pub has that fermented cider crap you like so much." 

"Hudson Blue?" 

Josh makes an unpleasant face. "Yeah, that." 

"It's good stuff, Josh." 

"Okay, Mr Guinness Boy." 

I grin. "Mr Guinness Boy?" 

"I don't trust you micks and your warm beer," he says with a mock sneer. "God did not intend for us to imbibe *warm* alcoholic substances." 

"Wuss," I say simply. 

"That sounded like a challenge." 

"Oh, no," I say seriously, holding out my hands in a gesture of surrender, "I'm not allowed to challenge you to anymore drinking contests. Donna said so." 

"She what--?" Josh breaks off, giving me a fierce glare. "Very funny, Sam." 

"You think I'm joking? Six months ago, after I whipped your ass at Quarters, Donna threatened me with bodily harm if I ever so much as let you *near* a drinking game again. Especially one involving vodka shots." 

"You did not 'whip my ass'." He pauses, catching my dubious look. "Okay, yeah, but to be fair, Stoli's is the strong stuff. Anyway, does this mean you'll be joining me?" 

I think for a moment, carefully weighing my options. If I call CJ and tell her I'll be late, it shouldn't be any big deal. Anyway, I reflect bitterly, it's not like she's my girlfriend. It's not as if she's actually counting on our date this evening. 

It's not as if it's actually a date, either. The legal term might even be 'a mutually agreed upon arrangement of physical pleasure'. It's not as if I'll hurt her feelings by postponing our evening. 

I nod at Josh. "Yeah. Give me five minutes to finish up here and we'll go." 

"All riiiight," he replies with that tone he uses when he thinks he's scored a particularly rewarding coup. "Meet you in the lobby in ten." 

"'kay." 

"And no shop talk," he instructs me seriously. 

"Okay," I agree. 

"The word 'subpoena' is not allowed to cross our lips." 

"It's a deal." 

"Just two guys, drinking as men do. We deserve some pure, unfettered, unadulterated, hedonistic pleasure, Sam." 

"Agreed." 

Josh rises to his feet and heads for the doorway, disappearing around the corner. When I'm sure he's out of earshot, I pick up the phone and dial CJ's office. 

"CJ Cregg." 

"You sent Carol home already?" 

"Yep," she replies with a throaty chuckle. "Why? You up for a little risqué office action?" 

My body tingles at the tempting thought, but I fight back a wave of lust and say, "Actually, I was just calling to tell you I'll be running late tonight." 

"Oh?" Damn her. She doesn't even sound interested. In fact, she sounds downright distracted, as if she's rifling through papers or scanning her computer screen while we talk. 

"Yeah. We may even just need to cancel," I say petulantly. I'm baiting her, and I hate myself for it. 

"Cancel?" she murmurs. "Hang on, Sam, just a second." The phone clatters down and I hear her stirring around her office. I count fifteen seconds before she picks the line up again. "I'm sorry, Sam, what were you saying?" 

"Nothing," I sigh. 

"Don't cancel on me, Samshine," she suddenly says in this low voice that I pretty much can't resist. "It's been a hell of a day, I need you. I can wait for you. Is it important?" 

"Just drinks with Josh. I've been putting him off for about a week now,and you know how pouty he gets..." 

CJ laughs, but there's a weary undercurrent. I can picture her glasses sliding lower on her nose, the tired lines deepening around her eyes, and my heart tightens. Ever since she unveiled her new 'strategy' yesterday, she's been a bit more like the old CJ, but she's still so exhausted. "Okay, well you two go have your little male-bonding time thing. I'll meet you at your place around nine, nine-fifteen?" 

"Or," I say, taking a deep breath for courage, "I could always just stop by your place." 

There is a slight, almost imperceptible pause. Then she says, "Okay, so nine-thirty at the latest." 

I groan silently, admitting defeat. "Okay." 

"And in case anyone is listening in," CJ chirps in a loud voice, her mouth obviously aimed directly at the phone, "seeing as how we're having this conversation in the *White* House, let me just say that Sam Seaborn and I are meeting for work-related purposes *only*." 

"Absolutely," I snicker. "Lots of paperwork to do." 

"Absolutely," she echoes, her voice curling around my ears. "Lots and *lots* of paperwork." 

I stumble out of the taxi around 10.15 and manage to somehow find the appropriate amount of cash to pay the driver. Josh languishes in the backseat, blissfully drunk, his head lolling back and forth. 

"I like drinking games," he says inanely. Donna is so going to kill me. 

I belch and the acrid taste of gin fills my mouth. 

He gives me a sappy grin from within the dimly-lit interior of the cab. "You're my best friend, Sam." 

I'm not nearly as drunk as he is, but his declaration still gives me a warm fuzzy. "Cool, man," I manage. 

"And we are men!" he continues. "We drink as men do!" 

"Josh," I say seriously as my brain clears in the cool night air, "I don't think Buttery Nipples are manly drinks." I swear the cabbie chuckles as I say this. 

"Mmm, that's good stuff, though," Josh sighs. He suddenly sits up, looking as if he regrets it a second later. "Hey!" Oh God, he's got that let's-put-on-a-show voice. "I know! Let's go to Donna's. She likes it when I come over." 

I lean down over the still-open door. "Not when you're drunk," I inform him. 

"No," he says thoughtfully. "She says I yell at the cats." 

"You do." 

He sighs. "Okay. I'll go home then. Tell the man where I live, Sam." 

I dutifully give the cabbie instructions and slam the door as I hear Josh muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, "Take me to Donna's house by way of the President's house, Mr Cabbie, sir." 

I make it to my front stoop relatively steadily, pausing only to step over the cracks, whistling under my breath. CJ must be gone by now, I reflect morosely. I'm sure she gave up waiting on my sorry ass ages ago. The thoughts sobers me even more than the crisp night air. 

The idea of CJ waiting for me is entirely too appealing. Not in a June Cleaver, how-was-your-day-honey kind of way; just there, curled up on the couch maybe, or poring over papers at the kitchen table, or- -oh, happy thought--asleep in my bed. Yes, I think, as my stomach tightens and my blood begins to race, CJ asleep in my bed, all warm and cuddly, her hair falling over my pillow. I content myself with this visual since I won't be having the real thing tonight, and begin to climb the steps. Which is where I find CJ, yanking her keys out of her purse and muttering under her breath. 

"CJ," I exclaim happily. 

She doesn't say anything at first, but she glares at me. "Samuel," she replies finally. I can practically hear her teeth grinding together. 

"Sorry I'm late," I mumble, ducking my head like a chastened five- year-old. 

"I have been waiting for you," she says, her jaw clenched, "for over an hour." 

"I'm sorry, we--we lost track of time." 

"Uh-huh." 

"Really." 

"Do you have *any* idea how worried I was?" she demands. 

"CJ, I'm sorry--" 

"Sitting here, knowing that Dumb and Dumber were out on the streets of DC? Probably three sheets to the wind? Wondering if either of them were stupid enough to think they could *drive*?" 

"You *know* neither of us would ever do something that reckless," I say, aghast. 

"I know! But I was worried; I wasn't thinking straight." 

"We just lost track of time," I say again, more firmly this time. 

"You could have called." 

"CJ, what the hell is this about?" Our voices are rising now. We're facing off like a couple of prizefighters who've just entered the ring. 

"It just would have been nice to know that you thought enough of me to call." 

Is she insane? Thought enough of her? Doesn't she know I can't think of anything *else* these days? 

"That you thought enough of me," she continues, "as I *stood* here, *on* your porch, for over an *hour*." 

"I didn't think you'd wait!" I protest. 

"Well, I did. But it's always the same, isn't it, Sam? You never really think of me, any of you. When you get together, I may as well not exist. It's the goddamn He-Man Woman Haters Club, no girls allowed." 

"That's bullshit, CJ, and you know it!" I retort in outrage. 

"Is it, Sam? Is it really? Because I've gotta tell you, on the outside looking in, it seems pretty exclusionary." 

I put my hand to my forehead, trying to ward off the headache I can feel coming. My keys are still in my hand. I have no idea how we got into this argument. I thought we were arguing about my being late, but suddenly it's turned into something wholly unexpected. Choosing my words with care, I say slowly and deliberately, "We got to talking and we lost track of time. I didn't call because I honestly didn't think you'd wait for me, CJ. It wasn't deliberate. It wasn't intentional." 

"That's kind of the *point*, Sam." 

"Jesus..." I breathe in exasperation. 

Her voice lowers, sounding less angry than frustrated, but for some reason it's the final straw. "I deserved a call! I deserved not to wait out here like a damn puppy dog, waiting for your triumphant return. *I* had a prior claim on your evening, if you will recall." 

"You know something, CJ," I say, and even as the words come into my head, I know I'm going to regret them, "you're not my mother! You're not my wife! For God's sake, you're not even my *girlfriend*! I realize I acted thoughtlessly, but your anger surprises me, quite frankly. I think when you're using somebody for sex, you pretty much waive your proprietary rights!" I finish with a low growl and then we stand silently, chests heaving in indignation, glowering at one another. 

"I am using you for sex," she says in a quiet voice, "thank you for reminding me." And then she spins on her heel and clatters down the steps. 

For a minute I consider not going after her. I'm a little shaky on my feet, and I'm confused as hell. But as I watch her walk away, her heels clattering on the pavement, my heart twists inside of me. I can't just let her go. 

"CJ, wait." I dash down the steps and catch up with her. She keeps walking. I stop, reaching out for her arm. "CJ!" 

She stops, whirling around to fix me with that steely glare again. "Yes?" she asks coolly. 

My fingers close around her elbow, feeling her warmth through the thin coat. "Don't go," I whisper. 

I'm expecting a sharp retort, or at the very least a refusal, so it surprises the hell out of me when CJ visibly melts and rushes forward to press her body against mine. "I'm sorry, Sam," she says, her voice half-laughing, half-reproachful, "that was so stupid." 

I wrap my arms around her and bring her even closer against me. She's in low pumps today so she doesn't seem quite as tall as she usually does; we're almost eye-level. "It's okay. Just please don't go." 

She throws her head back a little and laughs, exposing her long, sleek throat. I take the opportunity to press a kiss against the skin there, and she snuggles closer with a happy sigh. "I won't go. I was just being stupid. I mean, don't get me wrong, you were too, but still...I won't go." 

I'm happily nuzzling her neck and shoulders, relief flooding through me that this ridiculous argument is over with, when CJ nudges me. "You know, you can do this inside and it'll be a lot more fun." 

I pull away from her, gazing back at her cautiously. She runs her hands up my arms and says, "Make-up sex is the best, Sam. Everyone knows that." 

God, she's gorgeous. Does she have any idea what she does to me? "So...we're making up?" 

"I'd say so," she replies cheekily. She seems carefree now, glimpses of the old CJ shining through her smile. "We had a stupid argument. We'll get over it." 

"Yeah," I agree, attempting to play it off as easily as she is. "We fought. That's what couples do." I cringe the moment the words leave my mouth. I can see her expression change abruptly in the streetlight to one of sheer terror. 

Shit. Shit shit shit. Way to overplay your hand, Sam. 

"Not," I hasten to add, "that we're a couple." 

"No," she says quickly. 

"By any stretch of the imagination." 

"No." 

I want to say more, but I know I can't, not if I want to keep this peace between us. "Let's go inside," I say. 

The relief on her face should make me feel better, but instead it makes me feel worse. I tell myself to be patient--it's only been a week, after all. But it hurts to know that I'm hurtling toward that scary precipice with every minute that passes, while she seems to be running in the opposite direction. 

Hours later I'm trailing my fingers along her bare back, loving the satiny skin there, tracing the curves of her breasts and hips. A woman should not be allowed to look as good as CJ does; it puts a man at more than a slight disadvantage. 

My hand spreads against her smooth stomach and she arches her body forward with a little yelp. "Stop; that tickles," she mutters as she spins around in bed to face me again. 

"It got you to wake up, didn't it?" I say smugly. 

"I wasn't asleep. I was...resting my eyes." 

"Sure you were." 

"I was!" She's indignant. Indignant CJ is so sexy. She picks up my hand and begins gently massaging my palm. "Okay, so you were--you were lulling me to sleep with these hands of yours. You have great hands, Sam." 

"So I've been told." 

She raises an eyebrow and drops my hand, giving me an expectant look. "Have you now?" 

"Let's just say that if Leo knew what I'd done to Mallory with these particular appendages, I probably wouldn't have them right now." 

"What!" she squeaks in amazement. "I thought you said that Mallory wouldn't let you touch her with a ten-foot pole." 

"Yeah, *now*." As she continues to glare at me, I can't help but laugh. "CJ, come on. It was a memorable first date, what can I say?" 

"Hmph," she snorts. "So you've used your magic hands on other women." 

I stare at her, astonished. "What? You thought I was the vestal virgin?" 

"Hardly." 

"CJ...Are you jealous?" I think I'm smirking. Josh would be so proud. 

"Hardly," she says again, one hand making a slow journey over my chest. "After all, I do believe you're naked with *me* at the moment, not Mallory O'Brien." She kisses me briefly, sending a jolt through my system. "Or Connie Tate. Or Ainsley Hayes. Or any of the number of women who salivate over you." 

"You sound smug." 

"I am. Because you're with me." She beams at me and it's like sunshine after the rain, I swear to God. 

"Stay with me tonight," I suddenly blurt out. 

CJ stops what she's doing, which is a shame, let me tell you. Then she gives me that look I've come to know and fear in the past several days: the deer in headlights, 'oh my God, Sam's pushing for intimacy' look. It's not the most encouraging expression in her repertoire. "Um," she says. 

"Look, Leo gave us the day off tomorrow. We could--" I'm making this up as I go. Something Josh said earlier springs to mind, "we could have a day of--of pure, unfettered, unadulterated, hedonistic pleasure. We could sleep late and stay in and just have a Lazy, Crazy Day. You know, rent videos and--" 

CJ cuts me off. Now her expression has softened to one of amusement. "What did you call it?" 

"A Lazy--" I break off, feeling the blush creeping over my cheeks. "Nothing. It's just something my mother used to say." 

She chortles with laughter for a moment, no doubt thinking of 'nervous hoolelias' and 'tater joes' and any number of my mother's sayings I've shared over the years. "Sam," she says, and I know I'm not going to like what's coming, "I really don't think--I mean...Staying over is kind of a--a big step." 

"A step you don't want to take," I fill in, more gruffly than I intended. She just looks at me. "CJ, I think we've pretty much established the physicality of this relationship. I'm not asking for more. I'm asking you to spend one night with me. It's not nearly as big a step as sex, and we've managed that hurdle just fine." 

But that's yet another lie, and we both know it. 

"If I spend tonight with you," she says slowly, "will you promise not to ask me again?" 

Now here's a dilemma. I can't honestly promise her I won't ask again, because waking up with CJ in the morning has become one of my prime goals in life. When she's with me, I can't help but want her to stay. But the lie comes easily. "Okay," I say, hoping I won't actually have to say the words 'I promise'. 

"It's not that I--Sam, you know I care about you. But this--us--we're a mess. If we start taking these steps, spending the night together, going out on *dates*...It's not what I want." Her eyes are intense as she searches my face. 

"It's not what I want either," I say. 

It's apparently sufficient, because CJ relaxes again and her body melts into mine. I put my arms around her and close my eyes. I try to sleep and I try not to think of how the lies are building, one on top of the other, like a structure of weights on my chest that may collapse at any moment. 

We sleep late the next morning--well, late by our standards. I awaken at nine-thirty, the sun streaming through the curtains onto my face. I mumble contentedly, feeling warm and safe, and find that I am wrapped in CJ's arms. She's curled up behind me, her arms holding me close. I feel her breath tickling my scalp. 

Oh yeah. Waking up in the arms of a beautiful, naked woman. This is definitely right up my alley. 

Just as I'm settling in to enjoying this, I hear CJ's breathing pattern change, becoming heavier, and she sighs sleepily. "What time is it?" Her voice is husky with that just-awakened fogginess. 

"Nine-thirty." 

"Ack!" 

"Relax. We have the day off, remember?" 

"Ohhh..." A smile tangles in her voice. "Yeahhh. That's right. And we're going to have a day of pure, unadulterated...What was it you said?" 

"Pure, unfettered, unadulterated, hedonistic pleasure." 

"*That's* it." 

And true to my word, that's exactly what we spend our day doing. We stumble out of bed around ten--me in my sweats, CJ in one of my tshirts and a pair of my shorts--and fix a big, fattening, unhealthy breakfast with not only bacon and eggs, but also waffles and heavily- buttered English muffins. We brush our teeth afterward, but otherwise make no concessions toward the usual daily toiletries. I turn the phone's ringer off and we both toss our cell phones and pagers into an unused closet. Then we flop on the touch together and turn on the tv, where to my great dismay, CJ finds a Behind the Music marathon on VH-1 already in full swing, and insists on watching it. And not just the cool ones--the Fleetwood Mac and Duran Duran episodes, for instance--but also the lame ones. For example, the Monkees special. 

You can learn a lot about a person from their musical tastes. I'm sorry, but it's true. The moment Davy Jones prances across the screen in tight hip-huggers and a flouncy poet's shirt, CJ squeals and I know I'm in trouble. 

"I thought you liked the Beatles," I protest. 

"I do! The two are not mutually exclusive, Sam." 

"I beg to differ." 

But she ignores me, because Davy is crooning 'Daydream Believer' and I no longer exist. She similarly tunes me out when I issue a loud protest during the first few minutes of the Journey episode. Let me just state, for the record, that I hate Journey with a fiery passion that burns in me like the heat of a thousand suns. 

"You can't not like Journey!" she says during one of Steve Perry's interview scenes. I'm tempted to laugh, but she looks deadly serious. 

"CJ, I don't 'not like' them. I hate them." 

"But--but they're *Journey*." Her expression is utterly dejected and she gestures toward the screen helplessly. "I mean...They're *Journey*, Sam." 

"Yes they are, CJ, and they suck." 

"I can't give my body to a man who doesn't like Journey." 

"In that case, they're my favorite group *ever*." 

"Nice try," she giggles. 

I nibble on her earlobe. "Seriously. Sing me 'Faithfully'. I'll cry and everything." 

"I can't. I'm still in shock." 

She gets her revenge during the Moody Blues episode, however, calling them 'a bunch of Pink Floyd, poser wannabes'. She also gets in a few pot-shots when we find ourselves in a heated Neil Young vs. Neil Diamond debate, likening the voice of my Neil (Young) to that of 'a whining yodeler'. "Put it this way," she says. "Neil Diamond's voice inspires women to throw their underwear on the stage. Neil Young's voice inspires them to throw their boyfriends on the stage for dragging them there in the first place." 

But God, we have so much fun. We sing-along to the Fleetwood Mac episode, reminisce about the first time we each heard 'Imagine', berate Van Halen together, and both get misty-eyed as Pete Townshend recounts Keith Moon's death. We empty the meager contents of my liquor cabinet and send out for Chinese from Wok It To Me. After a while we zone out Behind the Music--everyone's story is pretty much the same, anyway--leaving it playing in the background. 

Outside the day grows overcast and the rough wind sends tree branches pelting against my windows. CJ and I go on talking and laughing and making love, and we pretend that there is no world beyond the safe confines of my house. We don't discuss subpoenas or Grand Juries or strategies or debilitating diseases. We don't discuss anything of any import. 

Winter is coming to DC, and the unknown is coming to the Bartlet Administration, but together CJ and I lower our bodies to the floor and by some tacit agreement, decide to leave it all till tomorrow, and comfort each other in the only way we know how. 

-FIN-

_________________

Drunken ferry boat woman

swaying on your sea

if I turn on the gasfire

by the rain rattled window

won't you sail over to me

The hail storm tumbles

the rail line rumbles

you move on the porch with me

on an overcast day

the pale winter city

an afternoon's debauchery

Your blouse your skirt

undo them so gently

with beautiful care

I'm a lonely man

with five bottles of wine

I'd like you to share

Orange street light

afternoon becomes night

you drink your wine from a mug

there's cats at the backdoor

the snow it two inches

you roll down your tights on the rug

--Debauchery, David Gray--


	7. Mystery of Love

Mystery of Love, by Jess  


Category: Post-ep `On The Day Before' CJ/Sam  


Rating: R for language and tiny mention of hot monkey love.  


Disclaimer: I wish I was a little bit taller, I wish I was a baller, I wish I…(don't look at me like I'm loca…I know someone out there remembers this song). Anyway, as much as I wish these characters were mine, they belong to ABS.  


Summary: And I know there's a light at the end of the tunnel, Cos I taste it on your lips. And I feel a weight that can bear me double, you lift it with your fingertips.  


Thanks: To Sid for using her 33% for good and not evil…well, only a little evil.

___________________

The sounds of subdued laughter reach me as soon as I open the door. Manuel, the burly bartender who called, smiles slightly at me as he motions to one of the booths in the far corner. I nod my appreciation and walk past the dozen or so patrons still huddled in their seats at midnight, trying not to cringe at some of the more lascivious gazes.  


Josh spots me first, and his eyes light up as he scoots over in the seat. "CJ, what are you doing here? Have 

a drink with us."  


Sam looks at me briefly, but goes back to studying his beer and I try not to think about how much that cuts me. Instead I smile brightly at Josh and touch his shoulder gently. "Manny called me. I've come to take you two home."  


"Manny called? Why?"  


"Because you two are so wasted, he didn't even trust you to take a cab safely. Come on, let's go."  


"But Sam hasn't finished his beer yet," Josh whines.  


Sam looks up and finally meets my eyes, searching for anger, or maybe something more. But I've got a good poker face, best in the Cregg family as a matter of fact, and he won't see anything I don't want him to. He swallows the rest of the contents in his glass in one gulp and offers me a challenging look.  


"Well, I'm sure your frat brothers would be impressed, Sam, can we get out of here now?"  


He doesn't even blink as he gets to his feet, although he sways a bit unsteadily before he gains control. Josh isn't as lucky and I have to grip his arm so he doesn't fall on the floor. They both wave goodbye to Manny, and he smiles at me again as I throw some money on the smooth surface of the bar.  


"Drive safely," he calls to our retreating backs.  


"Ok, if anyone pukes in my car, they will be in a world of hurt…after they pay to have it cleaned up of course," I warn as I settle Josh into the back seat of my Ford Escape.   


Sam is already in the passenger side before I shut the door and I sigh because he won't even look at me. I wonder for a moment what I did to piss him off, and then mentally shrug it away because I'm too tired to have this conversation with myself.  


"Can we listen to the radio?" Josh asks.  


"No."  


"Why not? Are you going to yell at us?"  


I try to hide my smile as I shake my head. "I'm not your mother, Josh. You can do what you want. I just don't like being roused from my bed at midnight to come pick your sorry ass up. So we're just going to sit quietly while you contemplate your actions."  


"How did Manny get your phone number?"  


"I gave it to him about a year ago when you buffoons started frequenting the joint. I didn't want any press nightmares."  


"I don't feel so good, Claudia Jean."  


"Remember this the next time you decide to go drinking then," I say sternly as I glare at him from the rearview mirror. But he looks so miserable that I soften. "Stick your head out the window, mi amor. The air will do you good."  


We reach his modest town house about ten minutes later and I glance at Sam. "I'm gonna get him inside, make sure he's all right. Don't steal my car." He smiles at me and nods his head, and my heart feels a little lighter because maybe he's not mad at me after all.   


Once Josh is tucked in fifteen minutes later, I get back in the car to discover Sam asleep against the window. I resist the urge to trace his jawbone because he looks so peaceful, and instead put my keys back into the ignition. I don't even realize I'm heading towards my apartment until the elegant building comes into sight.  


Breathe, Claudia Jean.  


This doesn't mean anything. I just don't feel like driving all the way across town to Sam's place. It has nothing to do with the fact that I've gotten use to the feel of his warm body next to mine, if only for a few hours. And it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I had a hard time sleeping the night before last when I didn't get to see him. Nothing at all.  


I open his door and gently push his shoulder. "Come on, Samshine, wake up."  


He lazily opens his incredible eyes and gazes at me in confusion. "Where are we?"  


"My place." When he raises an eyebrow, I smile. "It was closer. Come on you big Lush, let's get inside."  


He mutters something incoherently as he disengages himself from the seatbelt and follows me up the stairs, one hand placed tenderly against the small of my back. I relish the warmth, but remind myself that he's in no condition to do any of the things running through my mind right now. Pity.  


As soon as I shut the door behind him, he takes me in his arms and presses an urgent kiss against my lips. His mouth taste as bitter as the beer he consumed earlier, and I push him away firmly.  


"I'm putting you to bed, Sam. That's it, you got it?" He looks at me innocently, but I see the mischievous glint in his eyes and I pat the side of his face. "I'm serious here."  


He nods his head slightly and allows me to lead him to the bedroom. I watch in amusement as his eyes travel quickly over the antique dresser and vanity table; the bookshelf lined with various family photos and knick-knacks; the large four poster bed complete with more pillows than a single body needs.  


"Wow," he breathes in wonder.  


Sam has been to my apartment maybe five times since we've been in Washington, but he's never seen this particular room. No one has. The pictures and paintings, the necklaces and earrings lying haphazardly across the knotted surface of the bureau, the simple crucifix hanging over the closet door; these things are too revealing and I have never felt comfortable enough inviting anyone else here.  


My heart beats wildly as I realize what I've just done, but as I look into Sam's eyes, my fears quiet. He knows he's been given a gift and he squeezes my hand reassuringly. This is the biggest concession I can make to him now, and I wonder if it will be enough.  


I begin to unbutton his shirt, and he places his hands on my hips, moving his thumbs in gentle circles. I look at him reproachfully, but he merely smiles back enigmatically. And suddenly his hands are on the edges of my T-shirt, fumbling to pull it over my head. I push him down onto the bed and smile.  


"What did I tell you, Sam?"  


"You said you were putting me to bed…I just want you to come with me."  


"You're not going to work your wiles on me, buddy. We have to be to work in six hours, and we haven't been getting much sleep lately. Besides, your coordination is severely lacking right now," I explain as I pull his trousers down around his ankles.  


"Is that a slur against my manhood?"  


I laugh as I kiss the top of his head, and then move him beneath the giant down comforter. He sighs and watches me as I walk to the bathroom, returning minutes later with a glass of water and two Advils.  


"Take these, drink this, and then I'll turn out the lights," I command softly as I change into my pajamas, taking delight in the desire so obvious in his expressive eyes.  


"Thank you, CJ," he murmurs drowsily as I take the empty glass from his hand, setting it on the nightstand.  


"Anytime," I reply as I climb into the bed beside him, wrapping my arms around his middle and spooning against his back. "But we will be having a discussion about this tomorrow."  


He answers me with a soft snore.  


+++++  


It feels like I've only been asleep for minutes when the alarm clock begins to sound incessantly in the loud series of beeps I've started to curse. I reach across Sam to pound ferociously on the snooze button, but can't help smiling when he places a soft kiss on the inside of my arm.  


"Why on Earth do you have this infernal thing set for four am?" he asks huskily.  


"I like to go to the gym in the morning," I answer as I snuggle against his back. "How's the hangover?"  


"I don't know, call Josh and ask him," he replies arrogantly as he turns so that we're facing each other.  


"How much did you drink last night?"  


"Not as much as I led you to believe," he says as he brushes his hand against my cheek.  


"What are you talking about?"  


"It's possible that I may have bribed Manny to call you," he admits guiltily.  


"What? Why would you do something like that?" I ask as I pull away slightly.  


"Because I wanted to see you."  


"You could have just called me yourself, Sam."  


"Really?"  


"Of course," I say, my voice tinged with just a bit of exasperation. "You don't think you could have just picked up the phone? Did you think I would hang up on you?"  


"Maybe."  


"Oh, Sam. What's this about?"  


"What do you mean?"  


"You were depressed last night. I mean, even if you weren't as drunk as I thought, you still weren't yourself."  


"So now you think you know me? We've been sleeping together for two weeks and already you're an expert on Sam Seaborn?" He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed so that I'm left staring at his back.  


"Don't do this to me, Sam. Don't shut me out." I hate the frailty of my voice, and pray he doesn't notice.  


"You know, CJ, you're so sure that you're going to hurt me. You think you're the darkness. But the thing is, you walk into a room, and it's suddenly ten times brighter. Your smile rivals the sun. Everything is so much more bearable when you're around. And maybe…"  


When he trails off uncertainly, I slide behind him and wrap my arms around his neck. He lowers his head and I can feel his warm breath against my hands. "What is it, Sam?" My voice is shaking slightly at the power of his statement and I wonder if he knows how much his words mean to me.  


"Maybe I'm the darkness," he finishes quietly in a choked whisper.  


"No, do you hear me, Sam? No."  


"How do you know?"  


I pull him back to lie in the bed and rest my head on his chest. "Because when you touch me, when you look at me, everything seems better, easier. I just…you make me feel so much lighter." I raise my head so that I can look into his eyes. "You could never be the darkness, Sam. You're too beautiful. Do you believe me?"  


He holds my gaze for immeasurable seconds before nodding his head almost imperceptibly. "It's just…I don't know anymore. We used to know who our friends were. Now members of our own party are holding us hostage. I'm so tired of being bitter, CJ."  


I run a hand through his dark hair and smile as he captures my fingers, bringing them to his lips. "I know, Sam. But things will get better."  


"You really believe that?"  


"I have to, because sometimes it's the only thing that gets me out of bed in the mornings."  


We lay wrapped in silence and each other for another five minutes before he smiles slightly. "How was the dinner last night?"  


I roll my eyes and bury my face against his chest. "You don't want to know."  


His chuckles and gently twirls strands of my hair between his fingers. "You get stuck learning about oxidation and redux reactions?"  


"On the contrary. He couldn't keep his hands off my knee, and he kept telling me about the hot tub in his hotel room."  


"What?"  


I look at up at him and smile. "I did look hot last night, Sam."  


"You look hot all the time," he responds smoothly. "But he's a chemist."  


"He's still a man though."  


"I suppose test tubes and beakers get a little tiresome after a while," he says thoughtfully.  


I smack him lightly on the chest and sit up. He moves his hands to rest on my outstretched calves, regarding me quietly for a few moments. "I don't think I like that look," I laugh as he leans forward.  


"Hey, CJ?"  


"Yeah?"  


"You still have that dress?"  


I arch an eyebrow and smile. "Um, yeah. It's hanging in the closet."  


"You want to, you know, put it on?"  


"Not particularly, no."  


"What if I told you it would make my day?"  


"I'd tell you to go put it on, then."  


"Come on, CJ," he wheedles as he all but bats his eyelashes at me. "I didn't have time to fully appreciate the view."  


"That's your own fault. You should pay more attention next time."  


Sam smiles suggestively and moves between my legs. "I was concentrating on not taking you right there on the President's desk," he whispers as he closes the distance between us and pulls my bottom lip between his teeth. "Come on, go put it on."  


"Why are you so obsessed with that damn dress?" I ask in frustration as I try to deepen the kiss, only to have him pull away.  


"Because I want to take it off of you."  


"All right, but I'm not putting any nylons on," I say as I get to my feet and run towards the closet.  


Warmth spreads through my entire body at the look on his face when I emerge two minutes later clad in the gown I agonized over in the small designer boutique. Sam smiles widely and walks towards me, stopping when we are centimeters apart.  


"You are so beautiful," he whispers reverently as he traces the line of the bodice with one finger.  


I shiver in desire and anticipation, and wonder just when I allowed Sam to gain control of the situation. But when he lowers his mouth to suck on my collarbone, I realize that I don't care.  


++++++  


My hair is wrapped in a towel, and I'm wearing only a blouse when I walk into the kitchen to find Sam frowning over the sink. His shirt is still unbuttoned, and his tie is draped across his right shoulder, and I don't think he's ever looked sexier to me.  


"What are you still doing here? You realize you have to be at work in forty-five minutes, and it takes you at least ten to get back—"  


"You have no food in your apartment," he cuts me off. "None. Not an egg, a piece of bread, even moldy cheese. You have nothing. I can't make you breakfast with nothing."  


I kiss his cheek as I reach past him to flip on the coffee maker. "I know. I haven't had time to go grocery shopping in a while. Besides, I don't eat breakfast. It was sweet of you to think of though."  


"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, CJ."  


"Two cups of coffee, and I'm good to go, honestly."  


He rolls his eyes at me and leans against the counter top. "You need to start taking better care of yourself. You work horrendous hours, you get an average of four hours of sleep a night, and your job is high stress."  


"I already have a mom, and she nags me enough, ok, Sam?"  


"I'm serious here."  


"So am I."  


"I'm just sayin'—"  


"I know what you're saying, Sam, and I'm telling you your concern is not necessary. I can take care of myself. I've been doing it for a long time now. Go bug Josh about his eating habits."  


"I'm not sleeping with Josh," he points out quietly, meeting my gaze head-on.  


"Oh for Christ's sake. You weren't concerned with any of this before we started…sleeping together. I'm the same person I've always been, so stop treating me differently."  


"But you're not the same person to me, CJ."  


"And that's your fucking problem. I don't need saving, okay? I was doing just fine before you came along, and I'll be fine when you're gone." My voice sounds shrill even to my own ears and Sam looks down at his fingers as he nimbly buttons his shirt in record speed.  


He laughs bitterly now and refuses to meet my gaze. "You're a piece of work, you know that?" He looks like he's about to continue, but a yellow taxi pulls up to the curb and honks the horn. He doesn't say anything as he walks out the door, slamming it behind him.  


The apartment rings with the finality of his exit long after the cab has pulled away. He's a warm body, nothing else. At least that's what I tell myself as I walk back to the bedroom to get ready forwork, absently picking up the obscenely expensive dress from the floor.  


I don't know how much longer I can continue to evade his subtle attempts to invade my life without breaking his heart all together. I give as much ground as I can, but that only makes him hungry for more. I know deep down that he's lying to me, that he believes this thing between us can develop into something real, something normal.  


I start to think that the next time I see him, I'll call it off, as I've promised myself I'd do since we got back to DC. But even as I apply my make-up, attempting to hide the hollowness in my cheeks, I know I've never felt more alive than I do when I'm with him.   


His touch is addictive, his kisses intoxicating. I can't walk away. And I hate myself for it.

-fin-  


++++  


__

The city gates at twilight  
And a red ship sinking  
Behind winter's grey wall  
Ice in the wind  
But a fire in the embers  
of my heart  
As darkness falls  
In a candlelit room  
Where your eyes are laughing  
Smoking in the red chair  
And nothing in the world  
'cept the beating of my heart  
Against the nerves of the air  
  
And I know there's a light  
At the end of the tunnel  
Cos I taste it on your lips  
And I feel a weight  
That can bear me double  
You lift it with your fingertips  
So often it happens  
That words prove useless  
In the face of how it feels  
So it is as the mystery of love  
keeps growing  
The more my heart reveals  
  
Temptations endless whispers  
Try to keep it in perspective  
So much to distract  
Walking on a wire  
While your juggling desire  
It's all part of this balancing act  
And it gets hard to know  
Just what you believe  
As the argument rages on  
But for all of the talk  
Its only true to say  
That if you have no hope  
There is none  
  
A tangle of tongues  
Flesh flowers and thistles  
of conscience, spittle and skin  
We can't change the past  
So we'll raise this cup to our lips  
And drink it all in  
And meantime back in civilization  
The rain is cold as steel  
But the mystery of love  
It just keep growing  
The more my heart reveals  
  
As sure as the rose  
The bright day blooms  
As surely still it fades  
And the night kindles stars  
On empty winds  
And ghosts along the collonades  
And slow but sure  
the sands are falling  
As the bridge burns  
beneath the wheel  
And the mystery of love  
It just keeps growing  
The more my heart reveals  
The more my heart reveals  
  
The Mystery of Love—David Gray 


	8. Brick Walls

Brick Walls, by Sid  


Category: CJ/Sam, post-On the Day Before. Let them have angst!  


Rating: R--language, vague sexual references  


Summary: I just don't care--don't care at all. I've banged my head too long on these brick walls.  


Disclaimer: Would that they were mine, but alas, they are not.  


Thanks: To Jess--you fill up my senses, like a night in the forest, like the mountains in spriiiiiiingtime, like a walk in the raaaaaaaaain...

________________

"I got good news and I got bad news," says a voice from the doorway. 

I look up to find Connie standing just inside my office, her ankles crossed, her head tilted to one side as she studies me, smiling. There's a copy of this morning's Post in one hand and the other hand is casually pressed against the doorframe. I arrange my features into some semblance of welcome and try to fight back a surge of irritation. I'm not in the mood to see anyone who isn't CJ--and I don't know if I'm even in the mood to see her. 

"Hello," I say. 

"Aren't you gonna invite me in?" Her smile falters. I'm pretty sure she knows she's not one of my favorite people these days. "I mean, it would be the polite thing to do." 

"I don't know. You know what they say about your kind-once you're invited in, you can pretty much come back at will." 

Her smile broadens again, evidently taking this as a form of teasing. She saunters into the room, dropping down into a visitor's chair. She tosses the newspaper onto the desk in front of me. "Now Sam, surely you're not implying I'm out for your blood." 

More like my job. Only I don't say that. "Of course not," I reply with a wry smile. "So what can I help you with?" 

"Good news or bad news," she reminds me. 

"I'm not really in the mood for good news-bad news games, Connie." I'm in more of a 'wallowing in self-pity' kind of mood, actually. 

"Humor me." 

"Bad news." 

She looks at me, startled. "Well, aren't we Mr Glass-Is-Half-Empty today." 

"But then the good news will sound so much better, won't it?" I retort lightly. I don't have the patience for this today. CJ's words are still ringing in my ears, and every time I think of them I feel sick to my stomach. 

'I was doing just fine before you came along, and I'll be fine when you're gone'. The woman really has a knack for using the fewest, simplest words to make the most shattering impact, you know what I'm saying? 

Connie shifts in the chair and smiles at me again. "Okay, bad news," she agrees. "Someone inside Victor Campos's inner circle has revealed to the Post that the Bartlet Administration is in a weak spot." 

"That's hardly news one way or the other, Connie," I remark, wondering why the hell she's wasting my time with inanities. "It's not as if the entire country is harboring the delusion that the Bartlet Administration is at its fighting weight." 

"Yeah, but this source goes into great detail as to the meeting certain 'prominent' staff members held with Campos." When I don't reply, she grins. "Actually, I was kind of flattered to be labeled as 'prominent'." 

"Is there a point to this?" I ask. My patience is waning. "It's far from the first time the details of a meeting have been leaked, and you know it sure as hell isn't going to be the last." I think briefly of my meetings with Campos and Kimball and anger surges through me in waves. How dare they? *How dare they?* 

"Well, the details that have been leaked are pissing people off, Sam. William Wiley--you may remember him," she interjects with soft sarcasm, "he challenged the president and Hoynes for the Democratic nomination in the last election and nearly won? He's issued a statement saying that even *considering* immunity for illegal Mexican immigrants shows that the Bartlet Administration is so desperate for votes they're willing to favor one demographic over another. He's saying you're treating other immigrants poorly just to boost your own approval rating, and that--" 

"'We're'," I interrupt. 

Connie stops abruptly and fixes me with a curious gaze. "Excuse me?" 

"It shows that *we're* desperate for votes. It shows that *we're* treating other immigrants poorly." I can feel my face tightening as she looks more confused by the second. "You said 'they' and 'your', as if you're not a part of this administration just like the rest of us." 

"Sam--" 

"As if you weren't the very person who stepped in and as good as promised Victor Campos the immunity in the first place. You're part of the 'you', Connie; you and Doug and Bruno, even though you may like to pretend otherwise." 

"All I was saying--" 

"I know what you were saying," I tell her quietly. "And all *I'm* saying is that you're just as much a part of this administration as I am; not in the same capacity, maybe, but you're a part of it all the same." I inch closer to my desk and lean over it, staring at her intently, our gazes locked. My voice grows stiffer and more controlled. "You were brought in to facilitate a re-election for the president, but you're also taking it upon yourselves to worm your way into domestic and foreign policy. Well," I shrug, "if you're going to do that, you should be willing to stand shoulder to shoulder with the rest of us when it backfires on you." 

Connie just looks at me, her face awash in surprise. "Sam," she says softly, "I came in here to apologize." 

That totally throws me. "What?" I ask stupidly. 

"I'm not going to say anything as trite as 'you were right and I was wrong'," she continues, "because I still think I'm right and *you're* wrong, but..." her voice trails off and she avoids my gaze, "I took you somewhat to task and I wanted to apologize for it." 

"A week later?" Okay, I know that doesn't exactly sound grateful, but still. 

She looks back at me, her vivid green eyes like lasers. "Bruno wanted me in that meeting, Sam," she says, avoiding an explanation. 

"Yeah, and we both know *why* he wanted you in that meeting," I challenge her. 

"Oh, let's not start that whole 'us against them' bullshit, Sam. We're grown men and women, we are *not* the gang at Rydell High." 

I groan in frustration, pulling my glasses off my face and tossing them to my desk, where they land with a clatter. "Connie--" 

"I went into that meeting and I did what I was supposed to *do*, Sam." Connie emphasizes her words with a soft pounding on the arm of the chair. 

"So, Bruno gave you *specific* instructions to undermine me and promise things to Campos that I was refusing." 

"This isn't about you, Sam!" she exclaims. Neither of us are raising our voices, but somehow we're still managing to get our frustration out. "Jesus, why are you all *like* this? Why is everything a personal slight against *you* or *Josh* or *CJ* or *whoever*? Why can't this just be about what's best for the election and what's best for the President?" 

"If you think we're not as concerned about this election as you are, you really need to pay closer attention," I remark in a low voice. "What are you guys, the Holy Trinity? Sweeping in to save the president from his evil, self-involved staff? Every decision we make-- " 

"Sam--" 

"--every strategy we plan, every compromise we negotiate, is done for the good of the president, Connie, and for the good of this administration. Now, I appreciate the fact that you've been hired to do a job, but when you start shooting me down in meetings that have been specifically garnered toward *my* job and *my* qualifications and *my* place in this administration--meetings that you are, in effect, tagging along to--you *cannot* fault me for reacting on a personal level." 

Silence passes between us, lingering for several moments, almost tangible in its potency. The only sounds are the people passing by my office and the distant ringing of phones and fax machines. Connie and I just look at each other. 

"Well," she finally says, exhaling slowly, "this isn't usually the reaction I get when I apologize to someone." 

I feel the anger ebbing away and I suddenly relax, leaning back into my chair. "I think I've been holding that in for the past week," I confess. 

"I still think I'm right," she says with a wry smile, "but I do apologize, Sam. I didn't handle it the way I should have." 

"Apology accepted," I respond after another quiet moment. "And, you know, just for future reference--telling someone to 'suck it up' and 'show a little humility' isn't what you'd call a surefire way to get in their good graces." 

Connie raises an eyebrow. "And what makes you think I'm the least bit interested in getting in your good graces, Sam?" 

Heat crawls up my neck and burns my face. Dammit, why do women have this nerve-wracking ability to embarrass the hell out of me? "I just meant..." 

In response, Connie peals with laughter. "I'm just messing with you, Sam. Lighten up!" 

That only makes me flush harder. I pick my glasses up off the desk, just for somewhere else to look, and say, "Well, I've got work to do." 

"Yeah, me too." Rising to her feet, Connie heads for the door and is barely into the hall before I remember something. 

"Connie?" I call. 

She pokes her head back in. "Yeah?" 

"What about the good news?" 

"Oh!" A mischievous smirk curls on her lips. "Check out the front page of the Post there, bottom left-hand corner." She disappears once more into the hallway, leaving me to straighten out the crumpled edges of the newspaper. 

There on the front page is a small, but prominent article detailing a statement from Victor Campos pledging unswerving loyalty to the Bartlet re-election campaign. "The willingness of prominent staff members to right past wrongs and hear the voice of the Latino people, only proves to me that this is an administration that should be given the chance to propel the President to greater heights and stronger actions," the article quotes him as saying. 

'Prominent staff members'. 

I think of Connie's words and grin. 

The pseudo-meeting with Connie is the best thing to happen to me all day. The two meetings I have scheduled are canceled--more Democrats jerking us around, surprise surprise--and rescheduled for the next day; Toby and I argue over something extremely stupid, and studiously avoid one another for the rest of the afternoon; and instead of writing the President's address to the Illinois caucus as I should, I decide to spend my day torturing myself by replaying my fight with CJ over and over again in my head. 

It is not a productive day. 

I need to know what it is about CJ Cregg that drives me to distraction. It's more than the sum of her parts--although she has some damn fine parts, let me tell you. I can't believe that in such a short period of time she's become so important to me that the very thought of losing her takes my breath away. 

She shouted at me in her kitchen this morning, wearing only a blouse, looking fresh-faced and gorgeous, and her words cut at my heart. I looked at her, at the sleek lines of her neck, at the droplets of water clinging to her collarbone and bare calves, and I just wanted to kiss every inch of her. But I was angry; I was so angry with her. I wanted to hurt her the way she was hurting me, but I knew I couldn't. I don't have the power over her that she has over me, and it was never clearer to me than during those few minutes when she told me in no uncertain terms, that I was a temporary part of her life. 

When I walked out of her apartment, I felt nauseous. I stumbled into the cab, my head spinning, my body aching as if her words had pummeled me from the inside out. And I thought, 'If she can do this to me in two minutes with a few words, what will she be able to do to me weeks from now--even days from now?' I'm falling, and I'm falling fast, and every day that passes, every day that I spend wanting her, only increases her power to hurt me. 

God, I'm pathetic. 

"Well, don't you look pathetic." I recognize Connie's voice and look up to find her watching me with a smirk of amusement. 

"You're like a bad penny today, you know that?" 

She shrugs nonchalantly. "I was just passing by and I saw you sitting there looking like a little boy who just found out there's no Santa Claus, so I thought I'd see what was up." 

"I'm fine." 

Her amusement only seems to increase. "You always do that." 

"What?" 

"You always say you're fine. I could walk in and find you in tears and you'd tell me you were fine." 

I shift uncomfortably in my chair. Her forthrightness surprises me; I don't think she and I know each other well enough to be having this conversation. I have to give her credit for at least trying--which is more than Bruno and Doug have ever done--but I don't feel up to playing True Confessions, either. "I'm fine. Really," I say. Like I'd tell her otherwise. 

"Ooookay." With another shrug, Connie turns around to leave, immediately bumping into CJ. The two women regard each other for a moment: Connie with a cautious smile, CJ with her inimitable death- ray glare. 

"Hey, CJ." 

"Connie," CJ returns coolly. The moment Connie is out of view she slips into my office and shuts the door behind her. 

We stare at each other. 

She looks gorgeous and rumpled, her hair slightly mussed, strands pushed behind her ears. Her shirt is unbuttoned just enough to show the tiny beads of perspiration clinging to the hollow at the base of her throat. The sight of her long, stockinged legs is enough to make my mouth go dry. 

"So," CJ says finally, still leaning against the door, "that's, like, the fifth time I've seen Connie in here today." 

Be casual, I tell myself. Be casual. Showing CJ how much I want her-- how much I've missed her--will only damn my cause. "I'd say that's a slight exaggeration." 

"Not really," she dismisses me coolly. 

"CJ." 

"So you're ignoring me," she continues. 

"I'm not ignoring you." 

"Josh has pointed it out, Sam." 

Dammit. If Josh has noticed, I must not be playing it as subtle as I thought I was. "I'm just--busy." 

"Ginger said both your big meetings were canceled today." 

I fumble around on my desk for the two paragraphs I've written for the President's speech and point to the sheet of paper. "Writing," I say, "I've been writing. 'Cause, you know, that's what they pay me to do." 

She sighs heavily, the exhalation propelling her across the room, all endless legs and exasperation. She stands in front of my desk and looks down at me. "Sam," she says reproachfully. 

"What?" I give her my best blank face. 

"I think we should talk about this morning." 

I feel my lips tighten in an unyielding line. I don't want to talk about this morning. I haven't had enough time to think about it, let alone form a strategy, so I'd really rather we didn't talk about it yet. Why are women like this? 

"Don't give me that look," she instructs me. 

"What look?" 

"The one where you try to seem all cool and casual, but wind up looking ten times more pitiful for your efforts." She eases elegantly down into a chair opposite me, all the while holding eye contact. 

"You really know how to bolster a man's ego, CJ," I retort bitterly. 

God, this is awful. I'm still angry with her, angry at her words, angry at the easy way she dismisses hours of laughter and lovemaking, while I'm left re-evaluating my entire existence at the merest touch of her hand. 

"I didn't mean to snap at you this morning," she says softly, looking down at her hands. Before I can respond she glances back up at me, her eyes dark and wary. "But you know, Sam, you're really pushing my buttons lately. And not in a good way. And I think--I think we need to talk about that." 

Her words are a sucker punch. For a moment I can't catch my breath. This is it. She's ending it. She's ending us--because we *are* an 'us' now, whatever she may think. 

"And I think--" she says. Here it comes. Oh God, "--that the lines need to be drawn a little bit clearer than they have been in the past couple of months." 

I dare to draw in another breath, a waiting, hopeful one. I can't tear my eyes off her. Her next few words, no matter what they are, will change everything. 

"This isn't real, Sam. Us--you and me--we're not real." 

My chest tightens, restricting every attempt at breathing normally. "Are you sure? 'Cause when we're in bed together, it feels pretty real to me." 

"Sam, don't." 

"Okay," I whisper miserably. 

"We're not real," she says again. "This isn't--this isn't something..." Her voice trails off and she runs both hands through her hair, looking almost haggard for a moment before fixing her eyes on me intently. "You're driving me crazy, you realize that, don't you?" 

I give her my best Gary Cooper, aw-shucks grin. "Well, that's just part of my charm." 

CJ giggles, then shakes her head imploringly. "Sam, what am I going to do with you?" 

"What do you want to do with me?" I ask, thinking, Anything--you can do anything you want with me. 

"I want to shake you is what I want to do." 

"Kinky." I decide to go the flirtatious route since it seems to work well for us. When all else fails, when things get too heavy for her and too scary for me, we fall back into this playful banter, this we're-only-in-this-for-the-sex façade of words and witticisms. I wonder if it will always be this way. And I wonder if we'll be together long enough for the word 'always' to apply to us in the first place. 

"Sam!" she exclaims in mock outrage. 

"I didn't say I wasn't up for it." 

She laughs again, throwing her head back. I want to kiss her throat. I want to unbutton that floaty, flimsy shirt and pull off that silky camisole and feel her bare skin under my hands. It's been about twelve hours since we made love and my body is so hungry for her. 

"You're always 'up for it', if memory serves." CJ's lips curl into a saucy smile and it's my turn to laugh, even as I fight down a sigh of bitter disappointment. "Anyway, listen...Sam..." 

I hold up my hand and she stops. "I know what you're going to say, CJ." 

"Yeah," she agrees, "I know you do. That's what makes this so hard." I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. "We keep having this conversation. Or rather," she amends, "we keep kinda, sorta having this conversation. It never goes anywhere. I try, but then you give me those bedroom eyes, and I just...God, we really have to talk about this." 

She doesn't say anything, just stares down at the floor, hands clasped around her knees. She's wondering how best to deal with my desire for more, how best to handle what she sees as my delicate feelings. She's doing what everyone does, working out the best way to protect poor, sweet, fragile Sam. 

And in a split second I know what I have to do. It's not just a matter of lying--if it were, she and I wouldn't even be having this conversation right now--and it's not just a matter of convincing her that I don't want anything from her she's not willing to give; it's a matter of keeping myself from wanting more. It's a matter of preserving what little is left of my sanity. CJ is getting under my skin in ways I never imagined were possible. No woman has ever done this to me in such a short span of time. Hell, I don't think any woman has ever done this to me, period. If I'm not careful I could lose myself in her, and that's dangerous to contemplate. 

The problem isn't that I'm falling for her; the problem is that I'm *letting* myself fall for her. So I'll stop. It can't be that hard. If CJ's able to do it, then so am I. 

To quote the woman herself, I'll put a lid on it. 

The moment I make the resolution, I feel the change: My posture relaxes, the fear loosens its death grip on my lungs, and I feel freer somehow. This is it. This is what I have to do. 

"CJ, it's fine." The dismissive tone to my voice surprises me. I could be discussing what I want for lunch for all the emotion I feel. "I mean...I'm sorry if I've made you feel uncomfortable. I'm sorry if I've pushed. It won't happen again." 

CJ softens. "You don't have to apologize. It's not something--I mean, I'm very *flattered*--" 

"It won't happen again," I repeat. 

She looks puzzled now. She was expecting me to be defensive, to plead with her, maybe, or to argue my case; she's not prepared for my acquiescence. "It's not that I don't care about you, Sam." 

"I know." 

"Because I *do*. A lot." 

I smile wanly. "CJ, I know this." 

She licks her lips nervously, unsure how to continue in the face of my very unSam-like behavior. "Because, you know, we can *talk* about this. This morning, at my place, I think things were left unsaid." 

"No. It's fine, CJ, really." Or at least, it would be fine if she would stop looking at me with those big, gorgeous eyes. This would be a hell of a lot easier if I didn't want her so badly. But then, if I didn't want her so badly we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. 

Yeah, it's official. She and I are a mess. 

"It's just very wrong for us to get involved, Sam. Barring grand juries and subpoenas and depositions and, you know, a scandal-tainted administration, you and I--we don't make much sense." There's a hard catch to her voice. Is she testing me? Is she deliberately trying to hurt me? 

Well, it won't work. As of right now she loses the ability to hurt me. I won't let her. 

"You're right," I nod agreeably, picking up my pen and the speech I should be working on. "We're good as friends, we're great as lovers on a physical level, but more than that?" I roll my eyes, hoping I'm not overdoing the nonchalance. 

"More than that would be ridiculous." 

"Absolutely," I say. 

"Right." Our eyes meet. Hers are curious, and I fervently hope that mine are blank. "So," she says, "I should really go." 

"Okay." I turn my eyes back to the speech and start scribbling. She'll get no arguments from me. As of now, I am no longer the anxious lover, eager to please. If she wants me, she'll ask for me. 

I won't be the one to beg. 

The impassivity slips for just a second and my body burns with hurt and frustration. Dammit, why do I get everything wrong? A beautiful, intelligent, incredible woman likes me as a friend and enjoys me as a lover; why do I have to push for more? Any other man would be happy with status quo, but oh no, not me. Not Sam Seaborn. I have to take it ten steps further till the woman is practically running in the opposite direction. 

"Sam?" 

She's watching me. Time for the blank face again. "Yeah?" 

"Your place tonight?" 

This is it. Every fiber of my being is screaming for CJ, my fingers are practically reaching for her of their own volition, but I have to be stronger. "I have plans tonight," I reply after a moment. 

"Oh. Well, okay. I just thought--I mean, we kind of made plans the other day to rent that new Emma Thompson movie, so..." 

"Yeah. Sorry about that." I'll leave it at that. I get myself into trouble when I start expanding on lies. Short and simple is safest. 

"Okay," she says brightly. "Well, if your plans change, give me a call. I'm sure I'll be up late." 

"I will." 

I don't watch her leave. I don't listen to her heels clatter down the hallway. I don't call her or stop by her office or glance in her direction for the rest of the day. I sit at my desk and I write the speech I'm supposed to write, and I keep my thoughts away from CJ and her arms and her eyes and her voice and her laughter. 

If you don't want to fall in love with someone, you just stop falling in love with them. 

-FIN-

________________

__

I just don't care

don't care at all

I've banged my head too long

on these brick walls

Every seed I sow

shudders and falls

Perishes betweens

these brick walls

And I feel like the last hair

on a head gone bald

Not much point being there

no point at all

How many more years

years 'till they fall

On the blind eyes

and deaf ears

and these brick walls

These brick walls

These brick walls

These brick walls

These brick walls

And I'm long past worrying

and I'm way past being appalled

I know history is hurrying up

and time can't be stalled

So don't try to run, no

before you can crawl

Just wait and the time will come

hey for these brick walls

These brick walls

These brick walls

These brick walls

Oh these brick walls

--Brick Walls, David Gray--


	9. Mountainside

Mountainside, by Jess  


Category: Post-ep `War Crimes' CJ/Sam  


Rating: R, for language (and I don't mean Spanish) and sexual situations  


Summary: You left me cold to meet your ghost.  


Disclaimer: Nope, not mine, and unless I figure out a way to get the genie out of the bottle, they never will be.  


Thanks: Sidalicious-You are my sidshine, my only sidshine…hee.

+++++  


The ice clinking against the glass tumbler soothes me more than it probably should as I sink gratefully into the near-scalding water. My left hand grips the edge of the bathtub as my skin reddens and eventually becomes numb. I submerge myself almost completely, stopping only when the bubbles tickle my chin. 

I hate working Sundays. Oh, it's not like I have anything even remotely resembling a personal life, but I know that when I get paged into the office, it's not because Toby wants to berate me for picking Chicago over Cincinnati in the football pool. No, if I'm called in it's because I'll have to impart some not-so-great news to the White House Press Corps, and ultimately the rest of the country. 

The cheap scotch burns its way down my throat and I sigh. I promise myself not to think of eight year olds killed by gunfire in church or the Vice President causing trouble for us somewhere down the line. I promise myself not to think of the food spoiling in my fridge because I've been making an effort, or unreturned phone calls. And I especially promise myself not to think about Sam. 

Sam, who has all but avoided me in the halls, and who comes up with excuses before I even open my mouth to ask him if he has plans for the evening. When did I become so dependent on him? It's not as if I love him. It's not as if I even want a relationship, except that maybe I do. Oh, not a real relationship where we'd actually go on dates and meet each other's parents, but something more than waiting for him to stop being pissed at me. 

And then the thought comes unbidden into my mind. The thought I've been trying to suppress for the past week because I don't want to face the reality. Maybe he's tired of me. I was fun for a while, provided some amusement, a little comfort, diversion. But he's finally realized I'm much too old for him, more than a little too complicated, and he's moved on. 

I guess I should be glad he's decided this so early on, before I could really become attached to him. Because despite all my talk to Sam, I'd have to be heartless not to harbor some feelings for him in my heart after months of making love and whispering to each other in the dark. If I'm honest with myself, I may even admit that I liked his concern for my eating habits. It's been so damned long since anyone cared enough to mention my empty cabinets and sleeping patterns. But I think I effectively nipped all that in the bud with a few sharp turns of my tongue. 

And as long as I'm being honest, maybe I should own up to the fact that I'm terribly frightened of getting hurt. As long as Sam allowed me to control our encounters, I could fool myself into believing that I was putting nothing on the line, that he was the only one at risk of walking away heart-broken. But I've had plenty of time to contemplate the stupidity of my reasoning. 

Oh, Claudia Jean, what have you gotten yourself into? 

He thinks we're ridiculous together. I needed reassurance more than anything. I wanted him to vehemently deny my observation, but he'd agreed with me. And I'd left his office with the fake smile on my face, even though my mind echoed with self-recrimination and disappointment. 

And I wonder if this is how it all ends. With me in water that's too hot, and Sam avoiding my eyes and very presence. And I wonder why I should care anyway, because it's not as if I love him. And even if he is the only bright color sometimes in my gray life, that doesn't mean I can't go on without him. 

In fact, this is me celebrating. Yes, no more Sam. No more men period. Well, for a while anyway. And let's be frank, it's not as if men are lining up outside my door, so self-imposed celibacy isn't going to be some great feat. I'll just continue to drink myself into oblivion with no-name whiskey bought on a whim, and bathe myself in some twisted version of a baptism of fire. 

The phone chirps cheerfully from the living room, but I make no move to answer it. I know it will be my parents making their weekly call to their only daughter who lives too far away for their liking. My mother will ask if I'm eating enough, and my father will want to know if I'm seeing anyone. And since I have become so good at lying, I will tell them what they want to hear, and hope they don't detect the falseness of my tone. But I don't have the strength to act tonight, and so I let the machine pick up instead, promising myself to call them sometime during the week. 

The bay window, if you want to know, is what drew me to the apartment in the first place. I've never liked living in the front of a building because I'm a light sleeper, and the slightest noise is enough to rouse me from my dreams. A passing car, or hurried footsteps on the sidewalk has been responsible many times for my sour moods some mornings, much to my co-workers' dismay. 

But I couldn't resist the bay window in the living room that had glowed warmly from the afternoon sunlight when I first toured the modern building. It was a little pricey for a two-bedroom, and more than a little out of the way for work, but I'd fallen in love and the lease had been signed before the week's end. 

I've lined the seat with crème colored cushions and hung antique lace curtains on the rod. And there is nothing I like more than to sit in the window and watch the world go by without me. Oh, CNN is still on in the background, and briefing memos are inevitably spread out before me, but for a few minutes I can just act as observer and not participant. And it is a delicious feeling. 

Rain is still splattering intermittently against the window, and I am eagerly awaiting the outcome of a race between two drops of water when I see him jogging down the sidewalk with his head down-bent. He's not wearing a coat and his dark hair is plastered to his forehead. The damn fool is going to catch his death out there. I jump up from the window seat and race to the door, throwing it open so that I can admit him into the building before his finger even has a chance to touch the buzzer. 

His eyes are wide, and he smiles lopsidedly. "Hey." 

"What are you doing here?" I ask caustically as I wrap my arms around myself to ward off the chill. 

Sam looks at a loss for words and nervously runs one hand through his wet hair, setting it on spiky end. His shirt is molded to his muscled chest and arms, and rivulets of water run down his perpetually tanned face. He looks sexier than any man has a right to look. Bastard. 

"I tried calling," he explains quietly. "Look, can we continue this in your apartment?" 

I step aside grudgingly and follow him inside, closing the door behind us. "Don't you own an umbrella?" 

"Yeah, but I left it home, so--" 

I cut him off with a quick wave of my hand and point a finger at him. "Don't move," I command as I walk to my bedroom to retrieve a towel and bathrobe. The bathrobe is a little presumptuous, I realize too late, after I toss both items at his head. 

He raises an eyebrow curiously. "You want me to change right here?" 

"You're not ruining my carpet, rain man." 

"Yeah, but it's just…" he trails off and blushes. 

"You're shy!" I exclaim in amazement. "Sam, I've seen you naked before…I've had my wicked way with you countless times." 

"CJ, could you just, you know, turn around or something?" 

I laugh outright even though I'm pissed at him because he is just too damned cute for words right now. "Don't worry. I'll protect your modesty and go make tea or something." 

He mutters his thanks and I smile as he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the almost see-through white T-shirt underneath. I fight the urge to help him undress and remember that I swore off Sam, and the rest of his sex, earlier in the bathtub. 

The kettle begins to whistle when he finally meets me in the kitchen, enveloped in the large folds of the fluffy robe. All traces of bashfulness are gone as he captures my gaze. "Why didn't you answer the phone?" 

"I was busy…and you didn't leave a message," I evade as I place the steaming mug before him. "Drink this." 

"You were busy? You have a hot date or something?" 

His eyes are dangerous and challenging. He has taken control of the conversation with one bold move, and although his words are teasing, his tone is not. 

"Gee, I didn't know you cared," I return sarcastically. 

"Should I? I mean, we're not exclusive, right?" 

His eyes are fairly glittering now, and the tension in his jaw is tangible. His fingers are splayed carelessly across the counter, but his stance is almost predatory. I lean closer to him until our lips are almost touching. 

"Fuck you, Sam." He draws back quickly because whatever he had been expecting, this wasn't it. "You're the one playing games, so don't come in here acting like the injured party." 

"Playing games? I don't know what in the hell you're talking about, but--" 

"For months you can't get enough of me. But for the past seven days, you can barely stand to be in the same room. I've been sitting here wondering what in the hell I did wrong because you don't return my phone calls. But now, suddenly, here you are. And if you think that we're somehow going to end up in bed tonight, you better think again, buddy." 

My chest is heaving with anger and I mentally kick myself for sounding so vulnerable. I had it all planned out in my head. I was going to be calm, cool, collected. I was going to act nonchalant as if I'd barely noticed his absence at all, even though I'd been crawling out of my skin. But my body tingles with his proximity and I hate his power over me. 

I swallow painfully because he still hasn't spoken, and walk past him. "Be a dear and lock the door on your way out, will you?" 

I make it as far as the living room before his hand is on my arm. He swings me around and I see the regret in his eyes. "I'm sorry, CJ. I had no idea, I swear. I wasn't playing hard to get; I wasn't punishing you. I was just trying to give you some space." 

"Then why didn't you ever call me back? I left messages on your machine and--" 

"I didn't trust myself, ok?" He sighs in frustration and relaxes his grip. "You have to know how crazy you make me. I want this thing, whatever it is, to work. And I thought if I backed off a little, you'd stop running. Just the sound of your voice is enough to…damn it, CJ. I would have been begging you to come over if I'd ever called you back. I wanted to do this the right way." 

I try to ignore the warmth in my lower belly at his words, but this is made impossible when he reaches down to grasp my hand, bringing it to his lips. "I am sorry if I gave the wrong impression, or if I hurt you." 

He smiles crookedly when I pat the side of is face. "Next time just say something, please." 

"There won't be a next time." 

"No?" 

This is it. He's been toying with my emotions for the past five minutes. He's not here to make up, he's here to call things off, to tell me he deserves better, that he's decided to join the priesthood. I try to steel myself for rejection, even as his thumb gently caresses my palm. 

"No, because we're going to set boundaries tonight." 

He smiles curiously at the rush of breath I let out in relief. I wrinkle my nose and tilt my head to the side. "Maybe later." 

"You have something else in mind?" he asks with faux innocence. 

I don't answer him with words but I lean forward and gently nip at the skin of his exposed collarbone, while tugging at the belt of the robe. 

"So, I can't comment on the food, or lack thereof, in your fridge?" 

"You just did it, Sam." I turn in his embrace so that we are facing, and throw one leg over his hip, bringing him closer. His breathing grows erratic for a few moments as I nuzzle his neck. 

"Did what?" he finally asks as I settle against his shoulder. 

"You said, `So I can't comments on the food in your fridge, or lack thereof.' I detected a hint of sarcasm there." 

"OK, ok. No smart assed comments about your deplorably empty cabinets. OUCH. Well, now I think that was uncalled for," he says as he removes my fingers from his side. "No pinching." 

"Well, no smart assed comments." 

"Fair enough," he returns amiably as he entwines our fingers and brings our joined hands to his chest. "You know, if you're not careful, I may go off and become a god for some native tribe of Fugi." 

"You are not allowed to speak to Will Sawyer, ever, ok?" 

"What's wrong with Will?" 

"Nothing, except that he said I was too tall to be a god." 

"Goddess," Sam corrects as he traces the line of my hip beneath the sheet. 

"Whatever." 

"For what it's worth, I think you're a goddess. A wanton sex goddess, but a goddess nonetheless." 

I slap his chest playfully and place a quick kiss on his lips. "Keep it up and you're going to be sleeping on the couch." 

He smiles against my temple and idly traces random patterns on my back with his fingertips. "Ok, so far we've covered phone calls, eating habits and reporters who moonlight as gods. Anything else?" 

"No marks where anyone can see, Romeo." 

"Sorry," he laughs as he presses a soft kiss to the hickey on the side of my neck. "I seemed to have gotten a bit overzealous." 

"Well, I don't mind as long as no one else can see it. I think my hair will cover it up, but--" 

"I understand." 

"Lastly, and most importantly," I begin as I raise my head up so that I can look into his eyes. "I don't want you to feel obligated to--" 

Sam cuts me off as he captures my lips in a passionate kiss that leaves me quite senseless. He smiles as he finally pulls away, tenderly sweeping hair away from my face. "I don't feel obligated, CJ. I want you as much as you want me, probably more." 

My face flushes a little at the desire in his gaze and I rake my fingernails lightly across his firm chest. "I just don't want this to be something you ignore everything else for." 

"Well, I think I've done pretty well on that account, don't you? I mean, I haven't neglected my work." 

"I'm not talking about work, Samuel." 

"I promise to still go out and baby-sit Josh while he gets shit- faced," he agrees with an exaggerated sigh. 

I nod my head in satisfaction and smile. "So, what are your conditions?" 

"I don't have any." 

"What do you mean you don't have any?" 

"CJ, everything is fine on my end, ok?" 

"So now I sound like the demanding one." 

"Oh, but you are," he says suggestively as he flips me onto my back in one fluid motion. 

"Sam, we really need to sleep," I protest as he begins to anoint my neck with quick kisses. 

"We can sleep when we're dead," he murmurs. 

"Please, Sam." 

He stops his ministrations and peers into my eyes to see whether I'm serious or not. Recognizing the look on my face, he sighs. "But I'm not tired." 

"Well, I'll sing you a lullaby then," I tease as I pull him down so that his head rests on my breast and his legs tangle with mine. We lay in silence for a few minutes before he speaks. 

"Well?" 

"Well what?" 

"You said you were going to sing to me." 

"I was joking." 

"If you don't deliver on your promise, I am going to keep you awake with things that are probably illegal in most states," he warns as he lightly runs a finger across the flat plane of my abdomen. 

"OK, ok, let me think." 

"Don't hurt yourself." 

"Do you want a damn song, or not?" 

"This is me shutting up." 

I clear my throat and roll my eyes because I can't believe I am going through with this. "You are my Samshine, my only Samshine, you make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know dear how much I love you, please don't take my Samshine away. Now shut up and go to sleep." 

I feel his laughter travel through my entire body since we are intimately close and I wrap my arms around his back. I've just about drifted off to sleep when he lifts up his head. 

"Did you know that's one of the state songs of Louisiana?" 

I groan and then open my eyes to glare at him. "Go to sleep." 

He rolls onto his back, bringing me with him so that I'm nestled securely in his embrace. He kisses the top of my head and whispers a `thank you' before his breathing evens out in sleep. Although I'm more confused than I've ever been, I fall to sleep easily in Sam's arms. And maybe that's ok for now.

-fin-

+++++++++++

__

Without a word, you set your sights  
into the sun  
when all the world, you put to rights  
was still so wrong

Pin your heart out on your sleeve  
spouting all that make believe  
from your lips it seemed it might come true  
falling down the mountainside with you

The clothes you wore, the people stared  
you looked so strange  
to see you move, St. Vitus dance  
was in your veins

Never once afraid to know,  
what it feels like when you go  
out beyond where logic keeps the view  
falling down the mountainside with you

If you were here first thing I'd do  
is knock you down  
you left me cold, to meet your ghost  
all over town

So grind the stone and spin the wheel  
lock the doors, on what you feel  
looking back, it's like I always knew  


I'd be falling down the mountainside with you

falling down the mountainside with you  
falling down the mountainside with you  
falling down the mountainside with you

--Falling Down the Mountainside, by David Gray--


	10. Flame Turns Blue

Flame Turns Blue

Category: CJ/Sam, post-War Crimes  


Rating: R--language, sexual situations  


Summary: I never noticed, hadn't seen it as it grew; the void between us where the flame turns blue.  


Disclaimer: Yeah, I'll take one of those.  


Thanks: To who else? The muy fantastica Jessiquita--for not mocking me that first time I said, "So I've changed my mind about CJ/Sam..."

_________________

Okay, I tried, I really did. I kept my distance for seven days. That's 168 hours. That's impressive. 

Well, all right, it wasn't quite 168 hours. Round about hour 153, I lost what little remained of my self-control, and I called CJ. When she didn't answer, I hung up on her machine and it took me about fifteen seconds to decide on a course of action. I left the house so fast the neighbors were probably choking on my dust. My car is in the shop and CJ's place is a little over two miles away, but I didn't care. It was pissing down rain and I had left my umbrella and my jacket at home in my haste, but I didn't give a damn. I wanted CJ. I had to see her. My body had felt every second of those 153 hours without her, and I had to be near her again. 

I don't know what I was expecting to happen when I showed up. Maybe I thought she'd be amused at my eagerness, maybe I thought she'd be slightly irritated that I'd shown up uninvited. I tried to prepare myself for all possible scenarios during that long trek to her house, but the one situation I hadn't prepared for was her anger. She was angry with me, and--I think--she was hurt. She accused me of playing games and I was stunned. Didn't she know? Couldn't she see? Staying away from her--keeping a distance roughly the size of a football field between us--was all that was keeping me from begging her to come home with me. And I'm not ashamed to tell you that 'begging' would not be too strong a word. 

I was trying to be strong, and she thought I was playing games? 

Not that any of that matters now, although it makes me wonder, and not for the first time, how CJ can be so frighteningly intelligent about so many things, and yet be so utterly clueless as to the power of her own appeal. I've seen how she handles compliments: tell her she looks beautiful or she's got a great body, and she grins and acknowledges the flattery as truth; but go deeper, go beyond that, tell her that she brings sunshine to a room, that the sound of her voice makes your whole body go into Red Alert, that seven days without her scent and her taste and her teasing is enough to make you lose your mind, and she's stunned. She can't say anything, she can't even meet your eye. 

She's sleeping in my arms now...God it feels good to have her in my arms again. The room is darkening in the evening light and the rain is still falling softly against the windows. I love rainy days. I love the way the sky goes gray and the wind seems thicker somehow; I love the smell of ozone and wet pavement in the air, I love splashing through puddles-- 

"What are you thinking about?" CJ's breath is suddenly warm on my neck. She stirs softly against me and lifts her head. 

"You're awake." 

"Astute deduction, my boy." 

"Go back to sleep." 

"It's only--" CJ glances at the clock on her bedside table "--six- thirty in the evening, Sam. I'm not tired." 

"Oh, I don't know, you seemed exhausted earlier." 

"Yeah, but that was because we spent about two hours having the most vigorous form of bedroom exercise I have ever been fortunate enough to--" She breaks off, catching my delighted grin. "That's exactly what you wanted to hear, isn't it?" 

"Well..." I say guiltily. 

She grabs a pillow and thumps me over the head with it. "Egomaniac." 

"Just glad I could please my woman." 

Oh, that got a look. CJ arches an eyebrow like Cruella DeVille. "Your *woman*?" 

"My amazingly-intelligent, incredibly-independent, highly-capable sex goddess of a woman?" She thumps me again. "Ow!" 

"You were doing really well until you got to the 'sex goddess' part." 

"But you *are* a sex goddess," I protest. 

"Shut up, Sam." She tosses the pillow aside and lies back down against me, resting her chin on my chest. "I am *a* woman--I am my *own* woman; I am, if I may say so, *the* woman. But I am not any *man's* 'woman'." 

"Okay, but...you can be a sex goddess, right?" I ask hopefully. 

"Well..." she pretends to ponder this for a moment, head tilted to one side. God she's adorable, "goddesses were revered, right? They had temples built in their honor. They could sic a curse on you if you didn't show them proper respect. They weren't, like, playmates of the month or anything. So yeah, I could be a goddess. I could live with that." 

"The goddess Claudia," I grin, running the pad of my thumb over her lower lip, thinking just how much she looks like one right now, laying here naked, the crisp white sheets tangled around her long, golden limbs, her hair mussed, her eyes dancing. 

"Goddess of press briefings," she says with a satisfied giggle, pressing her mouth against my stomach in a brief kiss. 

I groan in contentment. "And goldfish." 

"And the Jackal...and reporter smackdowns..." Her lips move against my skin in whispers. I close my eyes, allowing her to have, as she likes to put it, her wicked way with me "...and Sam-sex." 

"What?" I'm pretty sure my burst of laughter ruins the mood. 

CJ lifts her head again, smirking like the proverbial cat. "Goddess of Sam-sex," she repeats impishly, pressing her body closer against mine, curling one arm around me. "You get to be goddess over what you're good at, right? Aphrodite was goddess of love and beauty; Zeus was the god of thunder...you get my drift? Press briefings and the Jackal are my forte...as is Sam-sex." 

"I think I'm flattered." I also think I'm giggling like a pig-tailed schoolgirl. Really, our conversations can just get too absurd sometimes. 

"Also my domain," she continues. "Mine and mine alone. Sam-sex is hereby officially off-limits for anyone else." She taps my chest for emphasis and by now we're both giggling. I've never laughed as much in my entire life as I do when I'm with CJ. To tell you the truth, it's as big a draw as the sex. 

Of course, with this woman, everything is a bonus. It's not enough that she's beautiful, she's also sharp and quick and clever; it's not enough that she's sexy, she also wants to have sex with *me*; she's sassy and she's sweet, she's fire and ice, she's liquid gold...This woman is everything and she's killing me. 

So far my relationship tactics have failed spectacularly, as far as CJ is concerned. I told her I could be with her without wanting anything else, but the first thing I did was plead with her for more than she was willing to give. I took myself away, I gave her some space, but after the first day my entire body went into withdrawals and I could feel my spirit flagging, and after a week I couldn't keep myself from her any longer. 

I really am astoundingly inept in the ways of love. 

We go out for dinner and I wonder if the people around us can see that CJ and I are more than just two friends in rain-soaked clothes grabbing dinner. When the man taking my order asks me to repeat my request, and leans closer to me, I wonder if he can smell CJ's body on me. I wonder if the people around us see the proprietary way my hand rests at the small of her back. I wonder if people will see the White House Press Secretary and the Deputy Communications Director dining together and keep adding two and two until they make four. 

Probably not. This is, after all, a Taco Bell on the outskirts of Georgetown at 9.30 on a Thursday night. The hapless citizens of DC currently chowing down on Double Decker tacos and Crunchy Gorditas are more intent on bickering amongst themselves and slathering as much Fire-hot hot sauce on their meal as possible, than they are with determining just who the tall, gorgeous woman and her shorter, obviously-besotted companion are. As far as they know we're just two urbanites making a run for the border. 

Actually, I'm kind of a little bit excited right now. This is the first time CJ and I have been out in public together since we, you know, saw each other's fun parts, and somehow that seems like a big deal to me. As far as first 'dates' go, it's a far cry from the dinner at the Ritz CJ deserves, but she seems pretty happy, so I'm just going to go with it. 

"God, I was starving!" she exclaims as she wipes a slithering trail of hot sauce from the corner of her mouth. 

I lift an eyebrow in what I hope is a suave and sophisticated manner. "I'm glad to hear it." 

She pauses in the midst of her chewing to shoot me a 'you have got to be kidding' look, punctuating it with a roll of her eyes. "Uh-huh," she says, managing to make the pseudo-grunt sound downright condescending. 

"I'm just saying--" 

"Uh-huh," she says again--and how a woman can be so damn sexy while chewing something called a Cheesy Gordita Crunch is just beyond me. "You men are all Peter Pan after sex, you know that?" 

"Explain to me this metaphor, please." 

"Peter Pan!" She gestures with her Cheesy Gordita Crunch and a blob of something orange--I'm assuming it's the cheese--flies off and lands on the table with a splat. "Don't you remember that first part where Wendy finds him bitching and moaning because he can't get his shadow back on? She sews it on for him, being the nice little Victorian English girl that she is, and what does he do when she's finished? He jumps up--and I believe the word Barrie used was `crows'- -he *crows* about how clever he is for getting his shadow back on. Completely neglecting, may I add, to acknowledge that Wendy did all the work." 

"Are you saying I make you do all the work in bed?" I ask huffily. 

CJ gazes at me in shock and then begins to snort with laughter. "You are *so* missing the point," she informs me. "I'm just saying that men are always really pleased with themselves when the end result is good, and they like to, you know, remind everyone of that." 

"So you're saying the work I do in bed isn't worth crowing over." 

"Jesus." 

"Then I'm lost." 

An expression of confusion passes over CJ's face. "You know, this all sounded much better in my head. I was just trying to give you a hard time, but over-explaining really takes all the flavor out of it. Never mind." 

"Okay," I agree amiably, pausing for a moment. "You do realize that Wendy was of the Edwardian age, not the Victorian, right?" 

CJ gazes at me blankly. "I beg your pardon?" 

"Peter Pan was published in 1904--as a play, rather than a novel, although that's neither here nor there--during the Edwardian age of England." 

"I'm frightened that you know that, Sam." 

"Although, seeing as the Victorian age ended in 1901, and the Edwardian age *began* that same year," I say thoughtfully, "you could almost argue that Victoria's era had influenced Barrie significantly more than Edward's, since he'd only ruled for three years by that time. You could even argue--" 

"I don't wanna argue it, Sam. We were discussing your bedroom skills and somehow we got onto the subject of dead kings and queens and their influence on a children's playwright?" 

"Actually, Barrie wasn't just a *children's* playwright, as such. He was a journalist first, and he wrote other novels and plays until he created Peter Pan to entertain the children of--" 

"Stop!" CJ barks, before dissolving into laughter. "Oh my god, Sam, you are such a *dork*!" 

I would be offended, but she's laughing too hard, and I know she's teasing me. Instead of being hurt I'm amused. "What? It's not cool to know about Peter Pan?" 

"Not quite to this extent, no." 

"My mom read Peter Pan to me every Christmas," I shrug. "I got interested. It's actually kind of a depressing story when you look closely enough." 

"Let's not," she says, shaking her head indulgently at me as she begins to crumple up her wrappers. 

"Okay." 

"And by the way, the work you do in bed is plenty to crow about." 

"Yeah?" 

"Oh yeah," she assures me, winking as she sips at her drink. "Especially that one thing you do--I'd sure as hell gloat if I were you; it's pretty fantastic." 

My face lights up, I'm sure. "Oh--the thing with the--" 

"Oh yeah. And the way you--you know..." 

"Yeah." Hell yeah! I am the *man*. I am also, apparently, channeling Josh right now. 

"That something you picked up in college?" she asks, with mock- serious curiosity. 

"Let's just say there are many things an older woman can teach you." 

"Sam!" she exclaims with a choke of laughter. Then she narrows her eyes at me. "So, what, you have, like, a thing for older women?" 

"I wouldn't call it a 'thing'. And let's not start the whole age discussion again. Last time I checked, five years was hardly grounds for cradle-robbing." 

"I was learning to tie my shoelaces while you were eating your first solid foods!" 

I grin. "I need a more convincing argument than that, CJ." 

"I got my driver's license while you were still playing with GI Joes." 

"I gave up GI Joe when I was six, so that's irrelevant." 

"I'm taller than you." 

"Well, I just find that sexy." 

"Do you really?" she practically purrs. I hear the sudden clatter of her shoe hitting the floor, and then her warm, bare foot sneaks up my pant leg while she fixes me with a beguiling smile. "And what else do you find sexy about me?" 

"Plenty, but we don't have all night." 

"Come on..." She leans over the table, suddenly the picture of seduction. All she has to do is tilt her head at the right angle, let her eyes go all soft and hazy, and I'm a goner. 

"Are you trying to seduce me, Ms Cregg?" 

"Maybe." 

"In a Taco Bell?" 

"Anywhere is good for the goddess of Sam-sex," she coos. "The world is my temple." 

I feel a fatuous grin spreading across my face. She reaches over and takes my hand in hers, bringing it to her lips, kissing the tip of each of my fingers, her tongue flickering gently across my skin. I have to keep myself from shuddering. "I think...I think this may be a little inappropriate in the current setting, Claudia." 

She looks up at me, wrinkling her nose. "I like that," she says, still holding my hand in hers. 

"You like what?" 

"The way you say my name. With Josh, it's always, I don't know, an exclamation or a--a reprimand or something. When you say it..." her smile broadens, "it's like..." She stops and blushes. "Never mind. I just like it, that's all." 

"Okay." I slip her hand into mine this time, closing my grip around her slender fingers. I bend my head over her hand, pressing my lips into the delicate center of her palm, smelling the gentle warmth of her lotion and the faintest trace of Taco Bell sauce. "Claudia," I say again, and it's a whisper this time. It catches in my throat and almost comes out a sob, much to my embarrassment. I don't think I've ever put so much feeling into one person's name. 

We stare at each other for a while, hands clasped over crumpled taco wrappers and scattered remnants of cheese and tomatoes. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the two of us reflected in the glass against the darkness of the night, frozen in a moment like a snapshot, and I wonder where we go from here. I'm holding her hand now, and she's smiling at me like I'm the most important person in her world, but it won't always be like this. Because she likes me, but she'll never love me--and she wants me, but she'll never need me-- and I make her laugh, but I'll never make her happy. 

"Let's go," she murmurs suddenly. "People are staring, and I'm feeling a little…frisky." 

I glance out at the people surrounding us and see more than a few inquiring glances in our direction. "I hate to sound elitist, but I doubt many of the people here pay attention to press briefings or stump speeches." 

"True, but I'm pretty sure they'd still bat an eye if I were to take you right now, right here on this very cold, very messy formica tabletop." 

The blood immediately surges south from my head. "Check, please." 

"Sam," she snickers, "this is a fast food joint. We've already paid for our food." 

I nod hastily. "Right. Then what are we waiting for?" 

She's already on her feet, grabbing her jacket and slipping into it, unfolding her long legs from under the table. More than a few men glance in her direction, watching the sway of her hips, the curve of her back, the easy saunter that's both confident and come-hither. They look from her, with her slim, elegant body and million-dollar face, to me, standing short and hopeless, staring after her like a lovesick schoolboy. Once again I feel a surge of amazement that this woman--this utterly amazing creature, with all her layers and flaws and complexities--has chosen to be with me. 

I must have done something really, really good in a past life. 

The next day at work is much better now that CJ and I are back in each other's good graces. When we pass each other in the halls we grin like idiots and hope no one notices. We send vague, inoffensive emails substituting 'paperwork' for 'sex' and 'your office' for 'your bed', and we address them to 'Peter' and 'Wendy'. During Senior Staff she sits next to me and casually runs her hand up my thigh underneath the table while arguing with Josh about the rider Fitzgibbons has attached to the new health care bill. 

We even manage to have lunch together in her office. It's all very innocent, with the door open and everything, but somehow it still manages to be sexy and fun. You'd never know just two days ago we were avoiding one another like the plague. 

"You have banana pudding on your nose," CJ says, indicating with her spoon. 

I swipe at my nose and a spot of pudding is transferred to my index finger. "How is that possible? I didn't, like, dip my face in the container." 

"Perhaps when you eat the food of a five-year-old, you develop the table grace of a five-year-old." 

"Don't mock my dessert, CJ." 

"No, it's cute, it's just--banana pudding and Nilla wafers, Sam?" 

"What?" 

"Not creme brulee--not baked Alaska--not even apple pie..." CJ shakes her head. "Banana pudding and Nilla wafers." 

"Leave me alone," I say, spooning the last of it into my mouth and tossing the container into her trash can. 

"It's just, I can think of some fun things to do with banana pudding." She raises one eyebrow and gives me a knowing look. 

A shadow falls in the doorway and we look up to find Toby staring at us both in a typically inscrutable, Toby-like way while twirling a pen in his fingers. I choke on the last bite of pudding. "Name one," he says. 

"One what?" CJ asks in a strained, cheerful voice. Or maybe it's only strained to me because I know we're both wondering just how much of that he heard. 

"One fun thing to do with banana pudding," he says dryly, still twirling the pen. 

"Now don't tell me you've forgotten so soon, Tobas," CJ responds, fluttering her lashes at him flirtatiously. 

He grimaces. "How could I have? The delightful memory still haunts my every waking hour," he says in a perfect montone. 

CJ winks. "Thought so. Whadda ya need, anyway?" 

"I just wanted to ask you something, but if you're busy..." he glances over at me quizzically. 

"It's just Sam," she says, waving in my general direction, and even though I know she can hardly say 'Sam and I were engaging in a little verbal foreplay, if you'll please excuse us', it still stings. My face burns with embarrassment and I concentrate on the styrofoam cup in my hands. 

"Should I go?" I offer. 

"Nah, it's no big thing," shrugs Toby. He looks over at her. "I just wanted to ask you--Will Sawyer's back?" 

CJ nods. "Yeah." 

"Yeah, 'cause I saw him in the pressroom yesterday, so..." 

"So that was your first clue, huh?" 

"I'm clever that way." 

"Is that all?" 

He shrugs again, shifting on his feet and looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Um, Leo and I think you might need to tone down the flirtation a bit." 

CJ flashes him a fierce, disbelieving look. "I beg your pardon?" 

"I'm not saying you're being shameless, I'm just saying now is not the time to show favoritism." 

"Yeah well, Will *is* my favorite," retorts CJ, "so you and Leo need to suck it up and move along." 

"People are noticing." 

"Noticing what? That Will and I have a good laugh together?" Her voice is steadily rising in octaves. 

"That you were extremely happy to see an old crony back and might possibly feel a little warm toward a reporter who hasn't been lambasting you since the President's announcement!" Wow. I don't think he took a breath through that whole sentence. 

"Crony?" repeats CJ with a roll of her eyes. 

"CJ," Toby argues in that voice that sounds patient but in fact isn't, "we're in the middle of one of the toughest popularity battles we're ever going to have to fight. We're trying to make friends with the right people, and you're starting to pick the class geek over the cool kids!" 

"It wouldn't be the first time," she says coolly. 

"CJ." 

I watch as CJ's temper flares in her eyes. "Toby! This is ridiculous. I haven't seen Will in three years. I *like* him. I've always liked him. We have a rapport. You want me to ignore him from now on, is that it? Fine, I'll ignore him." 

"Don't be childish, CJ." 

"I'm being *childish*?" She puts a hand to her chest, outraged and wounded at the same time. "How else should I be? You're reprimanding me like I'm back in junior high, so forgive me if I revert back to adolescence here." 

Toby runs his hand over his forehead, giving a long-suffering sigh as I sit on the sidelines, my head whipping back and forth between them like a spectator at a tennis match. "CJ...it's just..." 

I gaze back at CJ, who suddenly looks very tired, her posture relaxing as she sinks deeper into her chair. She tosses aside her container of salad and frowns. "I get it, Toby." 

He's silent for several moments. "Everything counts right now." 

CJ snorts and says nothing. 

After another pause, Toby leaves, casting me a helpless glance before disappearing into the hallway. I walk over to CJ's desk and lean against it, putting my hand on her shoulder. "Hey," I whisper, "you okay?" 

"I guess," is all she says in reply. 

"CJ..." 

She raises her head and her eyes are heavy with fatigue. "I just get tired of it all." 

"I know," I say. And I do know. I see it in the lines around her beautiful mouth and the exhaustion that is so deep within her it seems to make her limbs heavier when she moves. I would give anything to make things easier for her. 

"You get tired of the hypocrisy, and I get tired of the--well, I get tired of the hypocrisy too, but..." she groans. "I get so damn tired of being the face of this administration. I get so sick of being the frontline." 

I try not to let my shock show on my face. I know CJ has had debilitating moments in her career, and it wasn't that long ago that she was ready to quit, but still--To hear her admit that she's sick of the job itself is something else entirely. With no idea what else to do, I move my hand to her neck, trying to rub away the stress and tension there. She shrugs me away. 

"You shouldn't be touching me, Sam," she murmurs. 

I lift my fingers away immediately, a mixture of hurt and resentment in my chest. 

"I should go talk to Will." 

I look away, out her window into the gray afternoon. "Okay," I say, shoving my hands into my trouser pockets, trying to adapt an air of nonchalance. "So I'll go then." 

I want her to stop me, of course. I want her to tell me she wants me to stay, or to put her hand on me and keep me from moving. I want her to decide that she'd rather talk to me than Will Sawyer, no matter how much she likes him. 

But she doesn't do any of those things. She just nods and turns back to her salad and says nothing as I walk out the door. I don't say anything either, I just walk away, wondering for the thousandth what the hell I've gotten myself into. 

The thing is, you see, I don't hate Will Sawyer. In fact, I downright like the guy. I couldn't hate him if I tried. And strangely enough, the fact that the sight of him suddenly fills me with blind, fierce, overwhelming jealousy, does nothing to alter that fact. 

Later that afternoon I see him in CJ's office. The door is open and he's perched on the edge of one of her chairs, notepad resting on his knee. They're deep in conversation and she's laughing at something he's saying, and I almost hate him for making her laugh--after all, it's one of the few things I can do for her--but something stops me. It would be hard to hate Will when he's done nothing wrong. The only thing he's guilty of is being someone CJ actually likes having around, and what kind of man would I be to want to take that away from her? 

And yet I'm jealous. I'm so jealous I can't see straight. 

God, this would be so much easier if I could just hate him. 

I'm not a jealous lover, by the way, so this is all new to me. In the past it's never bothered me to have a man openly admire my girlfriend, to talk with her or laugh with her, or be a friend to her- -and it's nothing to do with macho, showing-off-my-woman, chauvinistic bullshit; I just don't have a problem with it. I'm a grown-up about it. If some asshole decided to paw CJ in a bar, I'd like to think I could beat him to a bloody pulp, but other than that, I don't let it get to me. After all, I'm with a beautiful, remarkable woman, and I know there are going to be other men who realize that. I just don't let it get to me. 

For some reason it's getting to me now. 

And later that evening, in her apartment, as CJ unbuttons my shirt and trails her lips down my bare chest, I suddenly understand just why it is. It hits me like a goddamn bolt of lightning. 

It's because I know what he has that I don't. It's because out of all the men who admire CJ, it is a man like Will Sawyer who will take her away from me. Sex is enough for her right now, but it won't always be; one day she's going to be ready for more, and when that time comes, she's going to realize she settled for less when she chose me, that she wasted however-many weeks of her life on a man who doesn't deserve her and never will; a man who can never be half the things she wants him to be. So we have great sex, so what? It's a lot, but it's not everything. Couples spontaneously combust when physical attraction is the only thing involved--myself and Lisa are a prime example--but a match of mind and spirit and intellect is the glue that holds two people together. CJ and I don't have that. She towers over me in every possible way; she outshines me and there's nothing I can do to change that. I can't be more than I am, and what I am is not enough for a woman like her. 

She moves her body over mine, pressing her gorgeous breasts against me, kissing me and murmuring my name over and over, completely unaware that I'm not really here. I kiss her back, slipping my tongue past her teeth, tasting her, savoring her, and all I can think is that I'll never be good enough. She wraps her legs around my waist and our bodies move together slowly and I try to remember every detail, because I know my days are numbered. 

We lay together afterward, our legs tangled together, her hand resting on my stomach. I listen to her breathe, tracing my finger over her damp collarbone and neck, and I know that I can no longer convince myself I'm not in love with her. The ache I feel at the knowledge that I'll lose her one day is too much for me to ignore. It doesn't mean I'm afraid of not knowing what I feel; it's proof, it's confirmation, that I know what I feel and I'm afraid to admit it. 

The realization is suffocating. I have to move--I have to get out of here. I gently lift her hand from my body and settle it next to her on the bed. I start searching blindly around the room in the dark for my clothes, finding them, and closing the door gently behind me. I dress in silence in her living room, my eyes fixed on her discarded blouse where it lays on the floor. 

I grab my car keys and blazer. Tonight I will be the one to leave. She will be the one to wake up in the morning with empty arms and a cold bed instead of a warm, welcoming body. It's a small thing, but it gives me a feeling of control. It's a comforting lie somehow to tell myself that she doesn't have as much power over me as she did only today. 

The crisp air of the DC night envigorates me and I wish I had walked again instead of driving, because a walk on a night like this would do me a world of good. Instead I get into my car, fire up the ignition, and then stop. I drop my head to the steering wheel helplessly. 

Ever since CJ and I started this, I've always known what I should do. I've always had a motive, a tactic, a strategy. And now--now I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do next. 

-FIN-

___________________

__

I went looking for someone I left behind  
Yeah but no-one, just a stranger did I find  
I never noticed, hadn't seen it as it grew  
The void between us where the flame turns blue

Different places, yeah but they all look the same  
Dreams of faces in the streets devoured by names  
I'm in collision with every stone I ever threw  
And blind ambition where the flame turns blue

Worlds dismantled, hey and all the books unbound  
Conversations though we utter not a sound  
I heard a rumour, I don't know if its true  
That you'd meet me where the flame turns blue

So I venture underneath the leaden sky  
See the freight train with its one fierce eye  
And then I listen as it tears the night in two  
With a whistle where the flame turns blue

In the morning I will sing  
In the morning I will sing

Through the lemon trees the diamonds of light  
Break in splinters on the pages where I write  
That if I lost you I don't know what I'd do  
Burn forever where the flame turns blue  
Yeah if I lost you I don't know what I'd do  
Burn forever where the flame turns blue

In the morning I will sing  
In the morning I will sing

--Flame Turns Blue, David Gray--


	11. The Light

The Light, by Jess

Category: Post-ep, Gone Quiet (CJ/Sam)  


Rating: Very strong R. Be warned that this is a bit racier than past installments.  


Summary: It's just you and me in the sheets, And the whole wide world is just a jail   


Disclaimer: You know the drill. Nothing belongs to me.  


Thanks: Sid, how much wood could a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

+++++

The bar buzzes with muffled laughter and muted conversation, but somewhere underneath the noise I can detect the faint strains of some unidentifiable song from the ancient jukebox in the corner. I tilt my head to the side hoping to discern the lyrics and Toby arches an eyebrow. 

"What are you doing?" 

"What song is this? I can't hear it…" 

"Who cares what song this is? This is your day of jubilee," Josh slurs from beside me. 

"This is not my day of jubilee," I inform him as I pluck his half- empty bottle of beer from his hands. "If Toby or Sam had an answer to The Question, then perhaps this day could indeed qualify as one of jubilation. As it stands however, I am just happy that the majority leader so thoroughly tanked on The Question." 

"It's not an easy question, CJ," Sam says from across the table as he looks to Toby for backup. 

"Whatever," Josh snorts as he tries to wrestle his drink back. "Come on, Claudia Jean. That's only my second beer." 

"What do you mean, `whatever'? Medical research and the internet, Josh?" Toby deadpans as he downs the last of his scotch. "Leave the speeches to the professionals, ok?" 

Josh colors a little bit and turns to me. "You told him what we said?" 

"Donna told Ginger, Ginger told me, and I told Toby," Sam smiles. 

"Sell-out," Josh mutters. 

I pat the top of his hand and laugh at his sullen look. "Don't worry, mi amor. You're still in charge of the secret plan to fight inflation. You don't need to be a speech writer for that." 

Josh buries his head in his arms and groans. "I'm never going to live that one down, am I?" 

"Nope," Sam says before I can. 

As much as I love torturing Josh, nature calls and I stand up a bit unsteadily. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go powder my nose." 

"You want us to order you another drink?" Toby asks. 

I look at the two empty glasses on the table, and think about the two I had before and shake my head. "No thank you." 

I weave my way through the crowd to the back of the bar and sigh in relief when I don't see a line to the women's rest room. I wash my hands and wince at my reflection in the mirror. The lighting is incredibly harsh in here and the circles under my eyes are much more visible. But I smile as I think of the reason for those dark circles. 

And then I actually see the reason as I step out of the door. He's leaning against the wall and smiles at my surprise. "I missed you," he whispers huskily as he walks closer until we are centimeters apart and I can feel his warm breath against my neck. 

"Sam, someone is going to see us," I warn as my eyes dart down the long hallway. 

He shrugs carelessly and traces one finger across the top of my cotton shell, leaving a path of fire in its wake. My breath hitches in my throat as he presses a soft kiss on my collarbone. "I don't care." 

I let him drag my mouth to his until I am lost in a haze of desire and lust. His hands are everywhere at once and I can almost believe that I really don't care if anyone were to find us tangled up like this. The spell is broken however as he begins to tug my skirt up around my waist impatiently. 

"No, Sam. Not here," I hiss as I slap his hands away. 

His blue eyes are still clouded with arousal as he leans back. "I need you now, CJ." 

I smile at the unspoken plea in his voice and straighten my skirt. "We can leave in an hour. It'll look suspicious if we were to head out now." 

I kiss the tip of his nose and hurry off before he can respond. Toby eyes me curiously as I approach the table and I wonder if he knows somehow that I've just been making out with his deputy. My cheeks flush and I look down, noticing for the first time that Sam has somehow managed to unbutton my blouse without my knowledge. 

Fuck. 

"You a little hot there, CJ?" Toby asks quietly, not quite meeting my embarrassed gaze. 

Josh raises his head and smiles lopsidedly. "You gonna perform a strip tease for us?" 

"It will definitely up our approval points," Sam opines as he sits down again smiling. 

"You'd never get that lucky, boys," I return easily as I wave the waitress over. "Tom Collins, please." I need a drink. 

"Friends in Low Places," Toby says suddenly. 

"Pardon me?" 

"That was the song you were trying to figure out earlier." 

"Cuz I got friends in low places, where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases my blues away," Josh begins, injecting a southern twang into his words. 

"Josh, I beg of you, please, stop." 

"And I'll be ok. I'm not big on social graces, think I'll slip on down to Oasis, cuz I got friends in low places," Sam continues as he and Josh exchange grins. 

"See what you started, Pokey?" 

"I was just answering your question…and you were the one singing some deplorable song by a one-hit wonder all day today, so I wouldn't look down your nose at these two clowns." 

"Hey, that is a great song!" I protest. "And I didn't hear you complaining when I was dancing for you." 

"You danced for Toby but you won't dance for us?" Josh whines. 

Toby remains strangely quiet as I shrug my shoulders. "You snooze you lose." 

"How was she?" Josh asks as if I'm not sitting at the table. 

"I was magnificent, graceful, sultry," I cut in when he doesn't reply immediately. 

Josh rolls his eyes at me and turns back to Toby. "She was ok," he finally answers. 

I reach across the table and smack his forehead. "Ok? Just ok? No more impromptu dances for you, my friend." 

"I'll survive." 

"At first I was afraid, I was petrified. Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side. But then I spent so many nights just thinking how you did me wrong, and I grew strong, I learned how to get along—" 

"Swear to God, Josh, I'm never letting you consume another alcoholic beverage again if you don't shut up," Toby growls. 

I laugh at Josh's expression and look to Sam, who is busy peeling the label off his imported beer and avoiding my eyes. What the hell did I do now? For days he has been distant and unapproachable, leaving my apartment hours before I wake up. Sometimes there is a hastily scribbled note; other times there is nothing but the lingering scent of his cologne and a single trouser sock. 

And each time I wake up alone, my heart splinters and I wonder how much longer it will be until it breaks all together. I never meant to get this far invested. I never meant to get addicted to the gentle caress of his hands and the urgency in his kiss. I never meant to fall in love. 

OK, stop right there, Claudia Jean. You are not in love with Sam Seaborn. You are mildly interested. He is a passing fancy, a phase, someone to share physical pleasure with, who looks great and smells nice. Nothing more. At least, not yet, although he gets closer everyday to touching something that I've had blocked off for years. And surprisingly, it doesn't scare me as much as it should. 

Something changed a few nights ago. He started leaving in the middle of the night, and stopped coming to my office for lunch. And it worries me because I'm the one who's supposed to run. I'm the one who's supposed to break his heart in the end by my callous disregard. But it doesn't seem to be working out that way. 

"Well, you guys have been a barrel of laughs, but if CJ isn't going to let me drink anymore, I'm getting the hell out of here." 

"Yeah, it's getting late," Sam agrees as he throws some bills on the table and shrugs into his jacket. "Share a cab?" 

"Might as well. See you crazy kids tomorrow," Josh calls as he and Sam make their way to the door. 

Toby and I sit in companionable silence as we both nurse our drinks, but I feel his gaze upon me whenever I look around the smoke-filled room. It's unnerving to say the least and panic spreads through out my body because I'm sure he knows about the clandestine affair Sam and I are having. 

"What?" I finally ask in annoyance. 

"What `what'?" 

"You're staring at me." 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"There's something different about you." 

"Well I did get a trim the other day. You know—" 

"I don't mean a hair cut. You're…" he trails off in embarrassment. 

"I'm what?" 

"Nothing." 

"Things are going well, lately," I say conversationally when it becomes clear he isn't going to tell me what he was going to say. 

"For you maybe. You didn't take the NEA meeting today." 

"For someone who hates the arts, Tobas, you sure are passionate about the NEA." 

"Let me tell you about the NEA, CJ," Toby begins as I slouch in my seat because this particular rant could take hours. I mentally kick myself because I should be with Sam doing naughty things right now. 

Even though I need sleep, I find myself in front of Sam's darkened house. I knock a few times, but there is no answer, and I finally realize that he's not home. I should have known better. 

But I don't leave. No, instead I sit on the bottom step of his porch and pull my coat tightly around my body because the temperature has dropped a few degrees since the sun went down, and my breath floats in icy fog when I sigh. 

When did I become this pathetic? I mean, seriously? I was on top of the world today, and Sam manages to bring me down to this simpering level with his cold indifference. When did I give this control to him? At what point did I surrender my power? 

Expensive leather meets with damp asphalt in an oddly comforting rhythm and I look down the street, smiling as Sam slows his pace once he spots me on the stairs. His eyes are twinkling as he sits beside me. 

"Hey," he says softly as he slides our palms together. 

"Hey," I respond quietly. "I take it you and Josh made a stop somewhere else?" 

Sam ducks his head guiltily. "Yeah, he just wanted one more beer." 

"Which means, of course, he had two more." 

"Yeah, but don't worry, I made sure he got home all right. Have you been waiting long?" 

"No, just about ten minutes. Toby wouldn't shut up about the goddamn NEA." 

A shadow crosses over Sam's face, but he quickly covers it with a too- bright smile. "Come on, it's freezing out here," he says as he tugs me to my feet. 

Once the door is locked behind us, he pushes me up against the wall and begins gently sucking on my neck, eliciting a purr-- yes a purr-- from yours truly. He pulls back and smiles at me mischievously. "You like that, huh?" 

You know, maybe surrendering power isn't all that bad sometimes. "Shut up and get back to work." 

He throws his head back to laugh and I move forward quickly, kissing the salty skin just below his ear. He twines his fingers into my hair and kneads my scalp tenderly, letting out a small sound of disappointment as I suddenly stop my ministrations. 

"You know, Sam. What you did in O'Malley's was very reckless." 

"I know," he whispers as his hand moves to my skirt to tug on the zipper. 

"I'm serious here. What if Toby would have happened by…or God forbid, Josh?" 

"I would have told them to get their own girl." 

"First of all, I am not a girl. Second of all, ooooooooh, Sam." I close my eyes as he runs his hands lazily up and down the inside of my thighs. He continues his assault on my neck and anything I was going to say fades away as pleasure takes over my senses. 

Damn, he's good. 

"All I'm saying is, if you're going to dance for anybody, it should be me," Sam whispers against my ear as he pulls me closer, wrapping his arms possessively around my waist. 

"Hey, I tried spreading joy to you today, but you were too busy," I smile. 

He sighs and buries is face in my hair. "Yeah." 

"Are you ok, Sam?" I ask quietly as I try to shift my position. His hands hold me in place however and he slips his knee between my thighs causing me to moan softly. 

"I am now." 

"But earlier?" I prompt, determined not to let his talented hands distract me. 

""CJ, there's an exquisitely beautiful woman in my bed and I'd rather not talk about work." 

"An exquisitely beautiful woman, huh?" 

"Mmm hmm," he murmurs as he trails wet kisses along my shoulder, causing me to shiver. 

"Where is she?" 

Sam chuckles and gently pinches my side. "You're funny." 

"I always thought so. Hey Samshine?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You want me to dance for you?" 

He immediately relinquishes his hold on me, and I slip out of bed. "Stay here," I instruct sternly. 

"Wait, where are you going?" 

"Don't worry, I'll be back. I just need to find some music." 

His eyes roam lasciviously over my naked form and I wonder when I became comfortable enough to walk around bare-assed in front of Sam. His frank and open stare doesn't even elicit a blush. 

"Hurry up." 

I laugh at the almost painful desire in his voice and saunter out to the living room, picking up the trail of clothes we discarded in our haste to get to the bed. I quickly pull on my underwear and skirt as my eyes skim his CD collection. 

"Perfect," I whisper as I insert Marvin Gaye into his impressive stereo, rushing back into the bedroom fully-clothed. 

Disappointment flashes across his chiseled features as I lean against the doorway. "Are you leaving?" 

I don't answer him, but instead walk further into the room, gyrating my hips as Marvin begins crooning about getting it on. I smile seductively as I allow my hands to roam across my chest, finally settling on the top button of my blouse. 

His eyes light up and I swear he gulps as I slowly work my way down the buttons of the shirt, finally slipping out of it all together and tossing it behind me. I walk closer until I'm standing in front of him and I feel the heat in his gaze all the way to my fingertips. He reaches for me, but I evade his hands and work the zipper of my skirt, letting it fall to the floor in one fluid motion. 

He groans loudly when I pull the chemise over my head, running the cotton down the length of my body before letting it fall to the floor. I approach him once more and allow his hands to rest on my hips as I straddle his thighs, delighting in the feel of his obvious arousal beneath me. His incredible eyes, a shade darker now, glaze over as I begin grinding in his lap, and it isn't long before I'm pinned under him, a willing prisoner of his lips and hands. 

An hour later, my head cradled on his firm chest, he sighs in satisfaction and exhaustion. I plant a soft kiss on his warm skin and smile when his grip around me tightens. 

"You know, CJ. If this is how you danced for Toby, I'm going to have to break out the dueling pistols." 

I chuckle slightly and cup the side of his face, moaning when he grazes his lips across my knuckles. "Only you, Sam." 

He's silent for a few moments, and then he clears his throat. "Do you think Toby knows?" 

"Knows about what?" 

"About our sleeping arrangements," Sam explains, even though I'm sure he knows that my confusion is only a ploy. 

"Let's not think about that, ok?" 

"Would you care?" 

I wonder how Sam became so adept at ruining a good moment and I groan in disbelief. "Do we have to talk about this now?" 

"You wanted to know what was bothering me," he says sullenly as he moves out from under me to recline against the headboard. 

I sit up and sigh. "You said it was about work." 

"And it is. You know…we're managing to get our ads on TV by using soft money." 

"But that's illegal." 

"Not if you change a few words and make it seem like we're not saying, `hey vote for us'." 

"Sam, we're running for re-election." 

"Yeah, and?" 

"Oh, don't be a child." 

He glares at me, and I suddenly feel out of place, naked in his bed with his scent clinging to my skin. He runs a hand warily through his dark hair and brings his knees up to his chest. "I just didn't think it would be this way." 

And now I feel small and petulant because he looks so lost and bereft, and I know my part in it. "Oh Sam," 

"Don't, CJ. Don't try and make this seem right." 

"I wasn't going to." 

"You know…I was so mad at him." I don't need to ask who the `him' was because although we have never discussed President Bartlet in anything but the abstract, Sam still harbors some anger and resentment about the betrayal, and how things were handled. 

"I know." 

"He lied to us." 

"Yes." 

"But I have no right to be angry at him. I'm a hypocrite, CJ. And so are you." 

"What?" 

His eyes are blazing with indignation now as he stands to pace in front of the bed. When he looks at me, there is so much fury buried in his eyes that I back up a little. "We are staging a cover-up." 

"Don't be ridiculous, Sam," I say when I finally regain the power of speech. "We're not—" 

"You're ashamed of me…of us." 

"There is no us, remember? And I'm not ashamed of anything." 

He laughs bitterly and places his hands on his hips. "You're so scared of Toby finding out about us…you're so scared of anyone finding out about us." 

"You men are all alike!" I almost yell as I get to my feet and start gathering my clothes. "Once you start sleeping with someone, you have to parade her around and show her off. I'm not your trophy." 

"Is that what you think this is about? Damn it. I want to take you to restaurants, and I don't mean Taco Bell. I want to take you to movies, and plays. I want to be able to hold your hand in public. I'm just tired of this deceit." 

His voice trembles on the last word, and he sits down heavily on the bed. It takes everything in me not to comfort him, not to tell him that I want the same things. But I have to be the strong one. I've always had to be the strong one. 

"You keep talking like we're a couple. We're not, and we never will be." 

"Because I'm not good enough for you," he whispers as he buries his face in his hands. 

"Don't play the martyr with me. This has nothing to do with whether or not you're good enough," I respond angrily as I pull my skirt on with unnecessary violence. 

"Then what is this about? Why are you so scared to commit to anything? Why are you so damned terrified of me? 

I look at him for a few long moments and realize that this is a gap we will never be able to bridge. Because no matter how much I care for Sam, I can't sacrifice my dignity for him. I know that if we were to go public, I'd be a joke, a punch line. Sam is too pretty and I'm too old. And I can't do that for him. I can't do that for anyone. 

"I think it's time we said goodbye," I whisper because I don't want him to hear the pain in my voice. 

He studies me and then tersely nods his head. "Yeah." 

He turns his back to me and I dress quickly in the oppressive silence. He doesn't understand, and I don't have the strength to explain it to him. So instead I stand in front of him, waiting for him to look at me. When he doesn't, I gently kiss the top of his head and whisper a goodbye. I start to pull away, but he wraps his arms around my waist and buries his face in my stomach. 

"Good-bye, Claudia." 

When he slackens his hold, I run my hand down the side of his face one last time and try to commit the image of him now, naked and so beautiful, to memory because it will be the only thing to comfort me in the weeks ahead. I close the door behind me and trap a sob in my throat because I am walking away from the man who has made me feel so vital and alive. What in the hell am I doing? 

-fin-

++++++++

__

You turn out the light   
And the dark sucks on the embers of the fire   
My heart smoulders in the night   
And these tumbling boulders of desire   
Come rolling out the shadows in me   
Rolling out the shadows in me   
Rolling out the shadows in me 

You say I thought time was meant to take away the hurting   
As your lonely silhouette closes the curtain   
Back on the road destination uncertain   
So lets get in this car and drive   
And this feeling I feel so strong   
So powerful it cant be wrong   
Now the whole frosted night is just a song 

A song for you   
A song for you   
A song for you 

Now the moon is splashed right over the street   
Like my tears on your thighs so pale   
It's just you and me in the sheets   
And the whole wide world is just a jail 

When you're away from me   
You're away from me   
You're away from me

And it's rolling on by   
Here come the night   
You turn out the light   
And the dark sucks on the embers of the fire   
My heart smoulders in the night   
And these tumblin boulders of desire   
And we're rolling   
And we're rolling   
Rolling rolling rolling   
Rolling rolling rolling rolling rolling   
Ahh rolling  
Rolling rolling rolling   
Rolling out the shadows in me 

You turn out the light

--The Light, David Gray--


	12. My oh My

My oh My, by Sid

CATEGORY: CJ/Sam, post-Gone Quiet. And again I say 'angst'!   


RATING: PG-13--language only this time, no hanky-panky   


SUMMARY: Seems these days I don't feel anything 'less it cuts me right down to the bone.   


DISCLAIMER: None of it's mine: not the characters, not the show, not the song, none of it. Dammit!   


THANKS: The time has come, Sid said to Jess, to talk of many things; of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings. 

______________

I have officially reached a new low. Last night after CJ left, I drank an entire bottle of scotch and contemplated setting fire to the camisole she had left behind. I woke up on my couch and immediately raced to the bathroom where I emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet. I didn't bother combing my hair this morning, a fact which amused both Ginger and Bonnie greatly. I didn't even iron my shirt. 

Today I sat at my desk and scribbled nonsense on my desk blotter, just stupid swirls and squiggles and random words, because I couldn't concentrate on anything. In meetings I could focus on the task at hand, but alone, my brain just refused to do what it's paid to do. 

I miss CJ. 

It's over between us. We ended it last night with a few short words from her and a few desperate gestures from me. It wasn't our finest hour. 

I didn't realize how accustomed I'd gotten to having her in my life and in my bed on a regular, substantial basis. Somehow it escaped my attention that being with her was like breathing, just as effortless, just as necessary. Even when I knew I loved her, I failed to understand how much I liked her. 

I miss her a lot. 

The trouble is--and this shouldn't surprise me, really--she doesn't miss me. She seems a bit more subdued than usual, but she's gone through the day with every appearance of normalcy. She looks great, she smiles, she does her job as effortlessly as ever, and today I caught her dancing her way into Toby's office, swinging her hips and belting out 'Whatever Lola Wants'. He grinned at her, she grinned at him, and it killed me. Toby has always had more of CJ than I have, and it looks like it will always be that way. 

For me at least, it's hard to pretend there's nothing between us anymore. It's hard hearing her laughter in the bullpen, or seeing her chatting with Carol, and not being able to tell myself that she'll be in my arms in a few hours. Sometimes that was all that kept me going through the day, and now she's taken it away from me. It's been less than twenty-four hours, but already it's doing me in. 

Oh, it's all for the best, I know that. That last conversation...We'd already had it too many times. Two people can only have the same argument so many times before something's got to give. And what gave was our relationship. Big surprise there. As if there was anything about our relationship that could hold up under pressure. 

It's been hard to smile lately and now it's downright impossible. Besides this--this 'thing' with CJ, I also seem to have recaptured my role as some sort of karmic whipping boy. Not only did I have to deal with the psycho penny man, I've also been fighting the losing battle on soft money against the Formidable Three. If this keeps up, my position in this administration will become as much of a joke as my love life. Yeah, that's all I need. 

So I've made a decision. I've made a decision not to care. 

CJ's slinking around the office singing to Toby? I don't care. She's sitting next to me during Senior Staff? Don't give a damn. The smell of her body and her perfume is still on my pillow? I really couldn't care less. She's not going to get to me anymore; I won't let her 

"So what do you think is up with CJ?" asks Josh. We're in the Roosevelt Room, waiting to rumble with Onorato and his henchman. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Haven't you noticed she's been--you know, she's been really reserved today?" 

I think of her dancing her way into Toby's office and fight back a snort of resentment. "Reserved?" 

"She's acting like she was before Manchester." 

That piques my interest. I wait a reasonable length of time as we both study our files, before asking, "What was she like?" 

"What was who like?" 

"CJ," I remind him impatiently. "You said she's acting like she was before Manchester. What do you mean?" 

"Don't pretend you didn't notice, Sam. She was a basketcase right up through Manchester; snapping at people, talking about resigning...She looked like she was going to crack under the pressure. But when we got back..." Josh shrugs as he studies the paper before him, "she was better. More like her old self. Maybe happier, even." 

"I didn't notice that big a difference after we got back," I say, egging him on, needing to hear more. 

Josh rolls his eyes and closes his binder. "She was, like, the total opposite of how she was after the President's announcement. Before, she was--" he waves his hand around, searching for the right word "-- lost somehow. Sad. Unsure. You *know* how she was, Sam. But after Manchester it was like something happened to her to make her feel good again." 

I smile indulgently. "People underestimate you, you know," I tell him. 

He looks puzzled. "How do you mean?" 

"You're just a big teddy bear, really." 

"Okay," he blanches, "Samuel, I beg of you: do not refer to me as a cuddly creature of any kind, ever, but especially not in the workplace." 

Laughing, I fall back to studying my report, still smiling because Sensitive Josh is rarely seen. It's always there; I mean, the man is actually one of the most empathetic people I've ever known, but he so seldom reveals that aspect to his personality. I guess he feels CJ is a safe outlet. 

"Anyway," he says a moment later, "I've just been noticing she seems sad again. She laughs, but you know, it's not in her eyes. I'd just like her to be happy again. Like she's been the last few weeks. I mean, a happy CJ is just better for everyone." 

Okay, it would be utterly, utterly ridiculous and egotistical to tell myself I had anything whatsoever to do with that happiness. I give the report another cursory glance, but I'm not concentrating on it; I'm thinking of Manchester and that night in my hotel room. 

"I'm thinking Mexican for lunch," Josh murmurs. 

I nod in agreement, not really paying attention to him. 

CJ asked me once why I had chosen her that night. It angered me at the time because there had been no 'choosing process'. I hadn't weighed the pros and cons, I hadn't measured her against other women, I had simply seen her looking lost and helpless, and invited her up for a drink. For conversation. For laughs. That was it. There was no premeditation on my part. It wasn't until my hand brushed against her thigh and she looked at me with cloudy eyes and soft, parted lips, that I knew I wanted her. 

Now I'm wondering what would have happened if it hadn't been CJ. What if it had been Donna or Connie, or any other woman? If they had looked at me with tousled hair and bedroom eyes, would I have seized the opportunity? Would I have considered it an opportunity in the first place? Did I really only need a warm body, or did I need CJ? 

And what if CJ and I hadn't fallen into my bed? What if she had pushed my hand away, avoided my lips, laughed off my fumbling attempts to seduce her? Would it have made things awkward, or would it simply be a new joke between us? Something to bring up on the next drunken night, surrounded by our friends, playing the adults' version of True Confessions, disguising the painful truth as a funny story-- the night Sam tried to put the moves on CJ, ha ha ha. 

"They're late again, dammit." Josh looks at his watch and then turns to me abruptly. "So what's *your* problem, Seaborn?" 

"My problem?" 

"Yeah. You've been moping again lately." 

"I have not been moping." 

"There was serious moping going on today in your office. I walked by and you looked like someone had just run over your dog." 

"Seriously, I'm fine." 

"You're not fine. Anytime you say you're fine it means you're not." 

"Josh." 

"What is it, Sam? Talk to me." 

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. "Have you been watching 'Oprah' again?" 

He suddenly looks indescribably offended, drawing back in his chair and gazing at me in vague horror. "What? It was, like, once, okay? It was during my recovery and there was *nothing* on tv--well, nothing that Donna would let me watch--" 

"I'm just asking because the last time you got this touchy-feely you'd been watching that special on people reconnecting with childhood friends." 

"Not the same thing," he protests. "Besides, you and I aren't childhood friends." 

"Whatever. All I know is you called my office practically in tears." 

"I was on some serious medication, Sam, I am not responsible for my actions." 

I grin again. I'm enjoying this. "You told me you wish you had known me when we were six because we would have built a kick-ass treehouse and kept out all the young Republicans." 

"I said that?" 

"Well, you were pretty doped up," I concede. 

Josh looks at me and finally laughs, shaking his head. "I'm just asking you what your problem is these days." 

"I've just got a lot of shit to deal with, that's all." 

"Join the club," replies Josh, not unsympathetically. 

"I, uh, don't think you're in quite the same club I'm in, Josh, but thanks." 

He lifts an eyebrow. "I'm not? And what makes you so special?" 

For a minute I'm tempted to break down and tell him everything: about the night in Manchester, about the weeks afterward, about CJ and how she doesn't want me and how I'm going out of my mind without her. You know, basically resort to an all-out, full-fledged confession worthy of a Lifetime movie for women. Not that I wish to perpetuate unnecessary stereotypes, but let's face it, if I were to spill my guts to Josh, it would be a little on the girly side. Odds are he would be more than a little freaked. Besides which, I know how his mind works; the wheels would start turning and immediately he'd see CJ and me for what we are--were--a PR nightmare, a disaster waiting to happen, a joke. Just what CJ thinks. 

So I'm tempted, but I fight it. I shake my head, forcing a smile, and at that fortuitous moment, Onorato and Jaworski show up. They saunter into the room like they own the place and we settle down to discuss their laundry list of requests in exchange for backing off their proposed amendment to the latest health care bill. 

I do well, I think, though I don't come off as confident as Josh does. He volleys back every one of their insults and manages to look dubious and doubtful every time they issue a new demand. I mainly sit there and watch as he and Onorato reduce themselves to the politician's version of 'My dad can beat up your dad', but I think I project a certain air of authority. Maybe. 

The problem is that CJ keeps walking by the door, and I get a clear view of her every time she does. She's got the strategically- unbuttoned shirt over the camisole thing going on, and it's not doing me any favors. She's zooming around the office, still glowing from the majority leader's kamikaze response to The Question, and she's so amazing she makes me ache. But if I look closely, there is a difference in her. Some spark is gone from her eyes and her mouth is turned down at the corners. She doesn't hold eye contact with those she passes in the hall. But is that because of me, or is it because of...everything else? I can't think about that. That way lies madness. 

After the meeting I run into Leo. He greets me enthusiastically; well, as enthusiastically as he can muster. 

"Sam," he barks, "what are your plans for Thanksgiving? Have you decided whether or not you're going back to wherever it is in California?" 

"Marin County," I supply, "and no...I haven't really made a decision yet." I don't add that the reason I haven't made a decision is that up until last night I had planned to ask CJ over to my place. I was picturing a day of turkey, pumpkin pie, and lots of sex; not necessarily in that order. Now, of course, that dream has gone up in flames and I'm left with no plans. 

"Your parents don't want you out there?" Leo looks almost uncomfortable. Everyone looks uncomfortable when they get anywhere near broaching the subject of my family. 

"Well," I say amiably, "considering my dad's spending the holiday with his other family, and my mom's decided to blow some alimony at the Neiman-Marcus sale, I'm thinking I won't be missed." 

Leo gazes at me in surprise. "You don't even sound bitter anymore." 

I laugh shortly. "Oh, I'm still bitter, Leo, trust me. Would you believe I still can't refer to my dad's--other woman by name? I don't like to call her 'she' or 'That Woman', but I can't for the life of me bring myself to say 'Elaine'." I pause, knowing that the bitterness has crept its way into my voice and suddenly realizing that this will be my first holiday since my parents' split. Wow, this is turning into a banner season already. 

"Well, I just wanted to ask you...How would you like to join Mal and me for a turkey dinner with all the trimmings?" 

Mallory. Oh God, that's all I need. "Leo, I--" 

"You're grateful. I know, you don't have to say it." 

"No, I'm--well, no, don't get me wrong, I *am* grateful, Leo, it's just that I--" 

"It's just that you'll come," he supplies. 

"Leo." 

"You can't say no, Sam. I'm your boss and I'm taking pity on you in this, your hour of need. You're supposed to say yes." 

"I don't know..." My voice trails off. 

"I think Mal would be glad to see you." The words seem a bit strained somehow. 

Mallory. I remember her eyes flashing at me and the cute little way her lips pursed when she was angry with me--which, of course, was most of the time. I remember that memorable date, my hands on her hips, her lips on my neck, and I flush under Leo's scrutiny. It's a bit unsettling to think of a woman naked while her father's staring at you. 

But the thing is, I don't remember Mallory with any sort of regret or wistfulness. We had our few moments and they're over now, and I'm okay with that. It's not Mallory O'Brien I want anymore. 

"Sam?" prods Leo. 

But maybe, I tell myself, it's Mallory O'Brien I *should* want. Maybe last night was a wake-up call. Maybe it's time to try my luck with someone who can be attracted to me without being ashamed of it at the same time. 

"You're giving in, aren't you? I can see it in your eyes." 

I muster a grin. "Yeah, I'll come." 

"Great. The President will be so glad you're joining us." 

"What? Wait--what?" I hold up a hand in protest as he spins on his heel and heads down the hallway. "Leo!" I call. "You said it was dinner with you and Mallory." 

Leo pauses and turns around with that evil glint in his eyes. "Yes, I did." 

"Okay, you just suckered me into eating with you and Mallory in the *residence*, didn't you?" 

"Sam, you make it sound like it's a bad thing," he says reproachfully. 

I groan. "Leo!" 

"The President would never forgive you if he knew you turned down his invitation, Sam." 

I slap my binder against my head in exasperation. "Leo, I've never had to join Bartlet's Dinner For Wayward Pols before, and I really don't want to have to start now." 

"Of course you do," Leo's grin fades and he looks at me sternly. "You're coming, and I'm telling the President. We're going to be one big, happy, dysfunctional family. Now I just have to go work on the others." 

I frown in dismay. "You mean I was the first to cave?" 

"This is a surprise to you?" he retorts as he walks away again. "Remember to wear a tie," he says, his voice trailing behind him as he rounds the corner. 

"Rumor has it this year's lecture is on the inaccuracy of having pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving," says a voice behind me. CJ's voice. 

I freeze. She walks closer and stands beside me. We don't look at each other. "So, can I talk to you?" she asks hesitantly. 

I glance down at the binder in my hand and clear my throat. "Well, I don't think that's such a great idea. I have this meeting--" 

"It's not for another hour," CJ says, "I checked with Ginger." 

"Yeah, but I need to prep for it. It's on--" 

"It's on the Republicans' efforts to accelerate energy exploration on federal land, a subject which you know more about than any human being should." Our eyes meet. "You don't need to prep for it, Sam, and you don't need to avoid me either." 

"Is my office okay?" 

"Of course." 

We walk in together and I close the door behind me. CJ leans against my desk, her long legs stretched before her, and I suddenly think of last weekend, peeling her nylons away from her thighs, her calves, her-- 

That way lies madness. 

"What can I help you with?" I ask thinly, slipping into my chair behind my desk. I open the report up before me to let her know I'm not altogether concerned with what she has to say. It's part of my not-caring plan. But after a moment I see her hand in my line of vision as she slaps the report shut. 

Our eyes meet again. "Can I help you?" 

"Don't," she says. 

"Don't what?" 

"Don't be professional with me, Sam. You weren't before, there's no reason for it now." 

"What is it, CJ?" I ask with a sigh. 

She studies me briefly, irritation twisting her features. "Is this how it's going to be?" she says, leaning back again. 

"How what's going to be?" 

"You're being deliberately obtuse." 

"Yes," I agree petulantly. 

"I want to know," she says, drawing her words out slowly, "if this is how it's going to be from now on. I want to know," she says as she sits down, "if--if what happened last night is going to make us strangers. Because, you know, people would notice." 

I think of Josh noting the changes in CJ's demeanor and then shrug the thought away. "It's only been one day, CJ, I really don't know." 

"Liar," she mutters under her breath. 

I rip my glasses off my face and throw them down. "Look, what do you want from me? I've done everything you asked me to! Haven't I?" My hands are gesturing wildly in the air for some reason. "You said it was time for us to say goodbye, and I agreed. What, that isn't enough for you?" 

"Sam--" She stops, her eyes skittering around the room. 

"What?" I ask impatiently. 

"You're acting strangely around me." 

Shit. And here I thought I was doing so well. 

"People are going to notice if you keep avoiding me, Sam. People are going to talk. They're going to wonder why. What could possibly have happened between CJ Cregg and Sam Seaborn that he can hardly stand to look at her?" 

I gaze at her beautiful, serious face for a long, silent moment, and then realization floods through me like a physical pain. I know what she's saying--or rather, what she's not saying. "You're afraid people will find out." 

"Yes," she whispers, "aren't you?" 

"Don't worry, CJ," I say in a low voice, "people would never believe you would stoop to having sex with Sam Seaborn." 

She flinches. "That's not what I'm saying--" 

I rise from my desk abruptly and slide my glasses back on my face. "You don't have to worry, CJ," I say as I gather more papers together, "your secret is safe with me." 

"You're being ridiculous," she snaps. 

I ignore her. "I have to go." 

But she jumps up as I walk to the door and she grabs my elbow, yanking me around till we're face to face. "Dammit, Sam, don't be like this. I came here to make a peace offering." 

Instantly, before I can stop myself, a spark of hope flares in my chest. "Are you saying--?" 

But she cuts me off, releasing her hold on me and giving me her sternest look. "We have to be normal," she says firmly. "We have to be CJ and Sam, the Press Secretary and the Deputy Communications Director. Friends. Co-workers. Professionals. Not enemies, not strangers, and most especially not ex-lovers. Is that clear?" 

"I'm not a member of your press pool, CJ, you don't have to talk to me like I'm nine years old." 

"I didn't mean it like that," she says in a soft voice. "I only meant- -" 

"I've never made any demands, have I?" I ask her suddenly. 

She looks startled and wary. "What?" 

"I've never asked anything from you. I've--maybe I've made you uncomfortable, but I've never…" I close my eyes briefly, "I've never made any demands." 

"No. No, you haven't." 

"Can I make one now?" 

"I don't under--" 

"Stay away from me," I say, even as my fingers itch to touch her. 

Her eyes widen in shock. She takes a step back from me. "What?" 

"Stay away from me, CJ." 

"Sam." 

"Please." 

"You're being dramatic." 

I can't say it. I can't say the words. I can't tell her that being near her and knowing she's not mine is more than I can handle. I can never say that I love her and that the only hope for my continued sanity is for her to keep as far away as possible. If I said these things, she would know; she would know that I'm vulnerable, that I'm weak, that I need her. And CJ doesn't want me to need her. 

So I have to lie to her. Again. Jesus, I could make a career out of this. 

"I don't feel comfortable around you anymore," I say flatly. 

I can see by her expression that whatever she was expecting--a plea, an argument, a bargain--it wasn't this. "What?" 

"It's awkward," I say. I try to relax my body so that I look in control instead of sick with nerves. I can do this. I'm a man, after all; aren't we supposed to be good at the lying and the bluffing? "I feel like I'm back in junior high, you know?" 

"Do you now?" she asks in her dangerous voice. 

"You know, trying to pretend you and I never--never did what we did. Trying to hide it from everyone else because we know they'd laugh. It feels like junior high. I'm not exactly comfortable with that." 

"Junior high," she repeats. 

"Yeah. CJ, I really have to go." 

CJ straightens herself up till she suddenly seems taller than six feet. She smooths her skirt and looks down at me. "Yeah, you go ahead, Sam, you go to your meeting. And if you decide to, you know, act like a human being, why don't you pass me a note in study hall sometime?" Tossing me another beady-eyed look, she leaves my office and I stand there for a minute, watching her go, sniffing the lingering scent of her perfume. 

I miss her. I want to hold her again. I want to bury my face in her stomach and hold her to me and pretend last night didn't happen. At the very least I want to go after her and tell her that yes, I am in fact an ass, and I don't deserve her peace offering. I don't deserve any part of her at all, no matter how much I want it. 

But I've made a resolution and I'm sticking to it. Next week I'll go to the residence and have Thanksgiving dinner. I'll talk with Dr Bartlet about my back pain and with Zoey about post-graduate possibilities; I'll eat too much turkey and drink too much wine and I'll flirt with Mallory. I'll pretend that there is no grand jury investigation, no trial on the horizon, and no CJ Cregg. I'll pretend that I don't care, and maybe eventually I won't. 

-FIN-

_____________________

__

What on earth is going on in my heart  
Has it turned as cold as stone  
Seems these days I don't feel anything  
'less it cuts me right down to the bone  
What on earth is going on in my heart  


My oh my you know it just don't stop  
It's in my mind I wanna tear it up  
I've tried to fight it tried to turn it off  
but it's not enough  
It takes a lotta love  
it takes a lotta love my friend  
to keep your heart from freezing  
to push on till the end  
My oh my  
  
What on earth is going on in my head  
you know I used to be so sure  
you know I used to be so definite  
thought I knew what love was for  
I look around these days and I'm not so sure  
  
My oh my you know it just don't stop  
it's in my mind I wanna tear it up  
I've tried to fight it tried to turn it off  
but it's not enough  
It takes a lotta love  
it takes a lotta love my friend  
To keep your heart from freezing  
to push on till the end  


My oh my you know I just can't win  
I burn it down it comes right back again  
What kind of world is this we're living in  
where you never win  


It takes a lotta love  
It takes a lotta love these days  
To keep your heart from freezing  
To keep your spirit free  
  
My oh my you know it just don't stop  
It's in my mind I wanna tear it up  
I've tried to fight it tried to turn it off  
But it's not enough  
It takes a lotta love  
It takes a lotta love my friend  
To keep your heart from freezing  
To push on till the end  
My oh my it just don't stop  
My oh my it just don't stop  
My oh my it just don't stop 

--My oh My, David Gray--


End file.
